Oren's Blade
by ScytheRider
Summary: We've all heard the story of a dragon hatching for a new Rider. But what if that Rider happened to be a normal boy growing up in a world which didn't need saving?
1. A Longing

_**Author's Note:**_

_Readers of my Pokémon story will probably be wondering what this is._

_This is the first multi-chapter fan fiction I ever wrote. It was written back in 2006-2007. I'm reposting the story on this site because I want to preserve it for posterity. It's not my best work, but I can see how a lot of my writing style developed through writing this. It's an important piece of history to me._

_This was written after I read _Eldest_ but before _Brisingr_ was released; it operates on the assumption that Eragon and Arya flew off together into a new world, and that the rest of the dragons really were dead all along. So you might say it's an "alternate universe" story. But the story isn't really about those two anyway. It's about an overly emo teen who badly wishes he was a dragon rider. You know, like a lot of Eragon's fanbase. (I kid, I kid…)_

_Before you assume, I'll let you know that Oren is not a self-insert; if anything, Scythe is the self-insert character here! My goal with Oren was to write a character that Inheritance fans could relate to (even though they'd never admit it). It's very similar to what I did with Char in Silver Resistance. In fact, you might say that Oren is Char's previous incarnation; they share some personality traits in common._

_Originally, this was supposed to be the first half of a two-part story. I lost interest in the Inheritance fandom before beginning the second half. Oh well; the final book of the series covered all the themes I wanted to cover anyway, so no harm was done._

_Also, you might notice that this story is where my username originated from. Now I can finally dispel all of those strange images everyone had of someone riding on the back of the Silver Resistance character._

_Anyway, let's get going! Here's "Oren's Blade", my first attempt at a long-term fan fiction project. Enjoy!_

* * *

**-1-**

**A Longing**

_In the far-off land of Aephea, Oren, a blacksmith's son, spends his days and nights dreaming of dragons._

…

In all of Alagaësia, no legend has ever spread as quickly as the story of Eragon, the unlikely farm boy who one day found himself a Rider, and how he grew to bring the twisted king Galbatorix to his knees and defeat the heartless Empire which held the land in oppression. For centuries, the song of Eragon and his majestic dragon Saphira has been sung at human carnivals, Dwarven feasts, and Elven celebrations as a grand tribute to the mysterious ways of fate- a joyous reminder that no matter how dark the hour, a single twist of its thread can have the power to move mountains and restore what was once taken away. It was a song of hope for the future, a resounding ballad that would forever echo from the caves of Farthen Dûr to the forests of Ellesméra to the streets of New Carvahall. It was a legend which all of Alagaësia treasured dearly, one which would not be soon forgotten.

But the legend of Eragon was not content to say within the boundaries of its homeland. You see, shortly after his victory over the Empire, Eragon left the land of Alagaësia for unknown reasons. He took nothing with him but his closest companions and the story of his life. He spread this story wherever he went, telling of magic, ancient pacts, Dragon Riders, dark betrayals, and most of all, hope and determination in the face of the impossible. Perhaps it was because he wished the evils of the past be learned so as to not be repeated. Perhaps it was just because he wanted to follow in the footsteps of a childhood hero. Whatever the reason, he became a storyteller and spread his tales of adventure along his journeys to whoever would listen.

And spread, it did. People who had never before known about dragons or magic suddenly found their minds engulfed in a new reality of ideas and possibilities which they would never have believed. People of all races and nationalities were abuzz with wonder and hope that maybe, just maybe, a Dragon Rider might rise among them and ease their discomforts, fix their problems, right their wrongs, and change their world.

And a few, a select few, found themselves with a head full of a very different kind of thought: what if they themselves were to someday be chosen as a Rider? What if, by some twist of fate, a dragon would hatch for them just like it had hatched for the unlikely Eragon? What if they were to one day be irrevocably bonded to a nigh-omnipotent creature such as a dragon, and thus, given the ultimate freedom and power to alter their own reality? Those few, those select few, spent many sleepless nights just contemplating this possibility. Some of them longed for it so badly, it seemed that a gaping hole was missing from their heart that nothing else could ever hope to fill.

In the town of Rassan-Kaya, a lonely little place buried somewhere in the far-off continent of Aephea, there lived such a boy. His name was Oren Glaedrson. This is his story. Though it may be a small and simple story compared to that of the mighty Eragon Shadeslayer, it is a story worth telling.

Rassan-Kaya was a forest town. It stood in the northern recesses of the land, just before the foothills of an unnamed mountain range. These mountains were so brutal and high that nobody had ever crossed them, and it was said that even animals were not able to traverse their towering peaks. The mountain was known only by names such as The Place Where The Map Ends. Being so far north, the little town was forced to tolerate a very cold climate. Winters were long, summers were short, and even the mountains cast a shade which robbed them of their well-deserved sunlight for a few hours each evening. It was not a pleasant place to live by any means, but it was kept very alive by its hardworking inhabitants who loved their village like a son.

Luckily for Oren, the bitter cold was the least of his worries. You see, Oren was a young blacksmith. He spent his days walled up in the forge with his father, Glaedr, and his uncle, Ulan, being taught the secrets of molding and pounding the raw metal found in the mountain's foothills into any conceivable shape. It was because of Glaedr's expert craft, as well as all the other equally dedicated trades which were rooted in the town, that Rassan-Kaya was able to thrive despite its cold, harsh setting.

It was safe to say that Oren was in no danger of dying from cold or starvation, as his father's trade made him quite wealthy. Instead, he found himself a much more likely candidate to die from heat, exhaustion, boredom, or even mental agony: his father had taught him so well (although sometimes against his will) that he knew by heart how to make five different kinds of shovels, forty-eight different kinds of knives and swords, twelve styles of chain, shoes for at least eight species of animals he had never seen in his life, and countless other things that were no doubt needed all around the world and brought in a very hefty profit. But even though Oren was strong, skilled, and wealthy, leading a life that countless others would cut off their arm to take for themselves, he was not happy. He desired something more.

Oren was taught by his father to read from a very early age. When he was only eight, his father had acquired a copy of Eragon's book, entitled _The First and the Last of the Riders_, which told a greatly abridged story of how magnificent beasts called dragons made friends with elves and humans to keep the peace, how they were betrayed by the evil traitors called the Foresworn, and how he and Saphira arose from the ashes of the past to defeat the evil and continue the legacy of the Riders where it might have been lost forever. Although Glaedr's intent in giving him the book was simply to have Oren practice his comprehension of the written word (storybooks were quite rare, so he didn't have much of a choice over which one he wanted), Oren drank in every page and let his imagination fly away with the story. He read the book over and over until his Uncle gave him a new one on his eleventh birthday, and even then, he still found his mind drifting back to that magical land where a Rider and dragon could rule the sky and carve out history as they would see fit.

Shortly after his twelfth birthday, when he heard the rumor that that Saphira had laid eggs and that Eragon was on a journey to find Riders whom they would hatch for, he had that fateful thought. What if he were to be chosen by one of these dragons? What if he was destined to be a Rider?

It was then that Oren made his decision. His wandering curiosity of the strings of fate turned into a powerful desire. He _wanted_ to be a rider. He found himself longing for this freedom, this power, this friendship; he found his mind constantly soaring through the sky on the back of his imaginary dragons and exploring a world where he could actually use these swords he spent his entire life learning to make. He imagined a world where he could make a difference. It was a childhood fantasy, just like every other child normally has, except that this one never went away. His desire for a dragon to find him was so real to him that it could never be overcome. For years, it enveloped every aspect of his work, his play, and his thoughts. He kept his dream a secret from everybody, sharing it only with his journal each night before he went to bed.

_Year 6, Day 15._

_I had a thought today. It's a thought that I have had a few times before, but this time it was stronger and wouldn't go away. _

_Today, it's been six years since father first told me about Saphira's eggs. What has happened since then? I have not heard word of Eragon or any dragons for all this time. I feel abandoned by Saphira and by fate itself._

By the tiny light of a candle, a trembling pair of eyes scanned over the page. They nervously darted from line to line, as if afraid to dwell on any one for too long.

_I have never known such a heartbroken feeling before, and how it grows greater with every passing day! Whether I am to be a Rider or not, it doesn't matter anymore. All I want is the chance to touch the eggs and know for sure. I might feel just as much joy if they were to reject me as if one were to hatch for me. Just knowing my fate would give me enough peace of mind to last for the rest of my life. But where have Saphira and Eragon gone? They have disappeared from the face of the planet and forgotten to visit my little village. Even knowing that the eggs are already hatched would bring me a certain level of comfort._

_I'm getting angry more often, even though I don't want to be angry. I yelled at my father today! And to think it was over something as pathetic as chores. I didn't mean a word of it, but I'm afraid to talk to him again after what happened. No matter what I say, he wouldn't understand. It's all because of this distress. I feel like leaving and going to look for Saphira myself, but I don't want to break my father's heart. I love him._

_I need to get away from Rassan-Kaya for a while. Maybe I can trick myself into thinking I'm looking for Saphira or making it more likely that I will hear news of her. But truthfully I think it would calm my distress. Tomorrow, I will get up early and leave for Rohall City and stay there for a week. I have spent the evening packing and I'm all ready to go at the crack of dawn. I'll leave my father a note to tell him when I will be back. I hope he understands._

The words holding much more gravity now, it was harder to swallow them as they came. A finger trembling with a solemn understanding rose to the page to keep pace with the words and help bring focus.

_Is it wrong to feel like this? Every night, the dreams are the same. Xandar is there, flying me over the impassible mountains. He is there standing proudly over me, guiding my thoughts with his wordless wisdom. He is with me as we stand before kings and armies, pledging our support for a happy future. We venture together into the darkest caves, yet I feel no fear because he is at my side. I feel so at home in these dreams! I feel I belong there, even though I know I belong here. The dreams won't stop, even though I tried to stop them sometimes. And they keep flowing even in my waking hours whenever I'm not focused on my work. What started as a hope has become a burden of feelings which is destroying me! I will keep looking for ways to lighten this burden. For now, I can leave my family for a bit and see if that helps._

_Another day has ended. I will be seeing Xandar again soon._

It was the end of the page. Glaedr paused, trying feebly to process the difficult words which he had just read. Giving a deep and sincere sigh to nobody but himself, he held his face in his hands as he tried to comprehend the tangled feelings and decisions within his own heart as well as those within his son. After a few moments of anguishing reflection, he folded the journal and carried it back to his son's room where he carefully slid it back under his bed.

When the book was replaced, his heavy eyes rose to his son who lay upon the bed. There, he looked over his eighteen-year-old boy, trying for a second to imagine the dreams of dragons which were undoubtedly surging through his mind as he lay there. He laid with his face straight down into his pillow, his muscular arms and callous hands clenched under and around it as if trying to suffocate himself with it. His expensive sheets were hopelessly tangled around his arms and legs, and his short but messy black hair was pointed in every direction possible. Pausing at the sight, Glaedr whispered a solemn blessing over him before quietly leaving the room.

It had been such a long day for both Glaedr and his son. Since early that morning, Glaedr could tell something was amiss with Oren. He seemed to shrug off all his chores as if distracted with something, trying to avoid speaking or even eye contact with his father, his uncle, and everyone else. Then, at dinner, Oren nearly brought his father to tears when he erupted into rage. A short argument followed before Oren retired to his room, leaving his bewildered father staring at the empty chair and wondering what in the world would be the right thing to do for his son.

It wasn't the first time Glaedr had read Oren's journal. He read it on quite a regular basis, nearly once a week in fact. He knew all about Oren's desire to become a Rider and his growing anguish at all his unanswered prayers. He loved his son so dearly, and told himself that reading his journal would allow him to love Oren even more by helping him to understand the deepest levels of his feelings. He felt ashamed that, while his son was so engrossed in thoughts of adventures with dragons, he knew little about them aside from the fact that he was named after one. But with each peek into Oren's diary, he seemed to learn more and more about the dragons in Eragon's book (which he had never read himself, as it never seemed to leave Oren's room), and he eventually learned enough to sincerely pity his son in his times of difficulty. He secretly shared in his sorrow and always treated him with an insightful respect regardless of his mood.

But this, he thought to himself as he lay awake in his bed that night, was just too much. He couldn't bear to see Oren tearing up his own heart any longer. He decided that, after six years, it was finally time for him to have a talk with his son. He muttered a small prayer to himself to calm his nerves, then finally drifted off to sleep.

The night didn't last as long as either of them wanted it to. Dawn broke in just a couple of hours, and as promised, Oren was at his feet the moment it did. His higher intelligence barely working at that hour, he mindlessly grabbed the medium-sized bag of supplies which he had packed the night before and left his room with squinted eyes and a cloudy mind.

It wasn't until he approached the front door of his stone-walled house that he realized what he was doing. He realized that he really didn't want to go through with it. He told himself that his vacation was a foolish idea in the first place, that leaving his father and spending some time alone was not worth walking for hours straight through the cold morning air, and that he could practically have the same solitude if he locked himself up in his room. He rubbed his eyes and sagged his bag low to the ground, as if to drop it.

"No," he decided in a silent whisper. "I have to go. I need it."

And with that, Oren slung his bag back onto his shoulder, dropped the message for his father on a nearby table, clenched his coat tightly, and stepped out the door. He took one last look into the house as the freezing air surrounded him, realizing just what- and who- he was leaving behind. He shut the door as quietly as he could manage, then turned his attention to the path ahead.

"Son?"

At the sound of the voice, Oren's blood ran cold. He turned to see his father sitting against the side of the house, waiting for him.

"Father?" was the only reply he could choke out.

"Want to take a walk?" he asked.

Oren knew he was in no position to refuse. He nodded, and his father stood and began to walk with him down the street.

"I'm sorry," Oren said weakly as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"It's okay," his father replied quietly and sincerely. "It wasn't your fault."

They walked for a while in silence, the simple presence of each other's' company complementing the apology and forgiveness. It was cold, but neither of them were very bothered by it; their minds were busy racing and questioning what to say to or expect from the other. The silence ensued until Glaedr finally decided on something to say.

"Oren," he said, a little wider awake now, "I have a question for you."

"Yes, father?"

"What do you want the most out of your life?" he asked carefully. "What is your greatest dream?"

"I want to take over your work," he mumbled. "That's all I ever wanted to do."

"Anything else?" his father said, nearly breaking a nervous laugh.

There was no response. Glaedr did his best to pretend he didn't know the exact thoughts circling around in his son's mind as he struggled for words to form an answer.

Taking a deep breath, Glaedr said, "What about being a Dragon Rider?"

Oren winced at the question, but still couldn't answer. He found it even harder now to think of a reply. His face suddenly turned from a comforted sadness to a confused anguish, his gaze falling to the ground a bit before accusingly snapping back up to meet father's eyes.

"You knew?" was his eventual response.

"Aw, it wasn't that hard to figure out," said his father casually. "Ever since I gave you Eragon's book, you've been a different person. You've been distracted, your mind wasn't focused on your work. Add to that the fact that the Dragon Riders were constantly coming up in everyday conversation with you, and, well…"

"How long did you know?" he demanded softly.

"It's been in the back of my head ever since you were fourteen or so," he explained, "but I tried not to mind too much because I thought it would be a touchy subject with you. But now, you started getting so… well, I noticed that it started getting worse, so I figured I'd talk it out with you. Son, if there's anything you want to say, say it. I want to help you however I can."

"I feel like a Rider without a dragon," he said simply and firmly. "Well, I used to think I was. Now, I don't know. I waited so long for an answer, but nothing happened, so I'm trying to block it. I'm trying to get over it. But it's hard to do without doing things I don't want, like yelling at you."

Oren looked like he was going to say more, but his voice trailed off and went silent. As soon as he realized he was finished, Glaedr tried to respond.

"Oren, there's nothing t— "

"Is it wrong?" Oren quickly interrupted. "Is it wrong to want to be a Rider?"

"Oren, sometimes you can't do anything to change how you feel. It doesn't mean that how you feel has to change what you do. What if I wanted to be the richest man in all of Aephea? Is that wrong? Do you think it would be wrong if I wanted that _really badly_? No, of course not. Those are the kind of desires that drive a man to accomplish great things. But what if I were to let my desire to be rich distract myself, make myself a selfish, coldhearted monster, or a babbling fool? Instead of accomplishing great things, I've just destroyed my future."

"But that is something you can control," Oren protested. "You can make yourself rich by, I don't know, gambling well, or being an expert at what you do. But you can't choose whether or not to be a Rider. It's chosen for you."

"Hey," said his father, "That's not true. You say you feel like a Rider without a dragon? Then act like one! Show me what a Dragon Rider is like! Expecting a dragon is a tall order, I won't deny that, but remember that you don't need a dragon to do great things. Us mere mortals can change the world too, you know? Just look at me. Sometimes I lay awake just reflecting on the fact that my swords are out there winning great battles, and my tools are building castles and houses, averting disasters, saving lives… I've changed the world through my humble skill and my desire to be a successful man. That's a reality I can't deny. Now you, you could stay here and continue my business if you want. If not, there will be others who can do that. Granted, they might need a bit more training than you, but… If you want, you could always do something different with your life. Adventure out. Find somebody to teach you how to use a sword. Slay some evildoer! Win the heart of Aephea! You don't need a dragon to do that. Those kinds of heroes are born every day without their help. Granted, it may be a bit easier if you had one, but I'd dare say that it's much more impressive without, if you get what I mean."

Oren's eyes gleamed in the light of the rising sun as he took in his father's words. While it wasn't the most fulfilling speech, he saw the truth in his words and was comforted by them.

"By the way," he added with a gentle laugh, "is it the company you want? Is that it? If so, find yourself a woman and woo her. She'll give your life more meaning than any dragon ever could, I can promise you that!"

Already having fought through several adolescent crushes and still working on a couple at the moment, Oren couldn't help but laugh at the wisdom of the comment. He smiled and turned to his dad.

"I feel better," he said. "Thank you for talking with me."

Glaedr leaned over and hugged his son closely.

"I love you, son," he sighed as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "I'm always here for you."

They stood there for a long time, each enjoying the warmth of the other's embrace as well as the newfound relief that a burden had been taken off their shoulders. When they came back to their senses, Glaedr realized that they were nearly a mile out of Rassan-Kaya and that it was barely even the hour of waking.

"So… where are we headed?" Glaedr asked, parting with his son and looking at the empty road ahead of them.

"Well," said his son, "I was going to go to Rohall, but now I'm not so sure."

"Mind if I come along?" asked Glaedr. "I brought some money with me, y'know, In case you'd prefer the better food or the more expensive rooms at the inn."

"Don't you have work?" asked his son with wide eyes, surprised that he was even suggesting such a thing.

"I'm sure Ulan's more than able to hold down the house while I'm gone," he replied. "Besides, he might be able to use the extra money."

Oren smiled. He knew he couldn't reject his father's offer. They hadn't taken a break like this in years, and even then, it was never without the (somewhat annoying) company of his uncle.

They walked down the lonely road, not meeting a single fellow traveler for hours until it connected with the main thoroughfare which joined Rohall City to Zygre City. From there, it seemed that a constant stream of wagons, carriages, and lone riders were passing them in both directions.

"So, Oren," Glaedr said, speaking up again. "What's with your fascination with dragons anyway? What makes you want one so badly? I've always been under the impression that they're just terrible beasts with bad attitudes. Wouldn't they, y'know, snap up kids from the street of they're hungry enough?"

"Hah," laughed Oren. "Maybe the wild dragons would, but not the ones given to the Riders. Wild dragons would rampage around the world doing whatever they please, but the act of bonding gives them an instinct to serve and protect.

"And so the ability to rampage around the world and do whatever you please gets passed onto you, the Rider?"

Oren laughed again. Try has he might, though, he couldn't think of a rebuttal.

"Well, yes," he finally admitted. "It gives you power and freedom. But the power and freedom gives your life a greater meaning than it once had. In a way, the power to serve and protect gets passed onto you, too."

"Ah, power and freedom," laughed his father. "Two of the things every living soul on the face of the world wants to get their hands on. Really, I can't say I blame you or anyone else for that matter. What got you down in the first place so much? Hoping to see Saphira's eggs?"

"You told me about them six years ago," he explained. "Six years ago yesterday, in fact. All those years, you never once mentioned anything else about them. Here I was, waiting for something that was never coming."

"Don't tell yourself that," his father said. "Let's find out right now, shall we?"

Suddenly, Glaedr waved down a man on horseback who was traveling the road in the other direction.

"Good morning, sir!" said the horseman. "Can I do something for you?"

"Any word of the Dragon Riders or their eggs lately?" he called.

"No word," said the horseman.

"A shame!" Glaedr called back. "Oh well, good day to you, sir. Be on your way!"

Oren was about to express his surprise at his father's unexpected burst of erratic behavior when he did it again.

"You sir!" he called to a carriage driver. "Any word of the dragon eggs lately?"

"Nothing lately," answered the man.

Despite his son's complaints, he did this several more times to passing travelers. Oren couldn't tell whether his father was trying to make him laugh or whether he was actually serious…

… But either way, he couldn't help but notice that there was something amiss with the answers they received.

It was early in the evening as the two finally approached the limits of Rohall City. It was a very active place, certainly not like any of the remote villages which were scattered around the countryside. Rohall was lined with stone towers and fortresses, marketplaces, and bustling streets even in the evening. It was the trading post at which Glaedr would sell his wares every season and buy supplies for himself and the entire village to help them get through another year. Knowing the city's streets very well, he and Oren made their way to a tavern where they enjoyed a pricy dinner and a few drinks.

"This place is active enough," commented Glaedr.

"Isn't it usually this busy here?" asked Oren.

"You would think so," explained Glaedr, "but you've only been here for the trading seasons. It's not like this year-round. It shouldn't be."

Glaedr grumbled in annoyance as he looked about the tavern, which was also strangely active for the current time of year.

"So, what should we do this week?" mumbled Oren as he chewed on a turkey leg.

"Besides look for Saphira and Eragon?" his father cracked, but in a way that was impossible to tell if he was joking or serious. "I say that we should go shopping. Let's decide every single thing we should by next month when our work's done!"

"I'm all for that. What about Flag Wars?"

"Awe, a fantastic idea!" he crowed. "There must be a game scheduled for this week. But you have to promise me that you'll be on my team this time. I don't think I can stand being beaten again by my own son."

They spent the evening casually planning out their week and enjoying themselves. When they were done and the sky had turned too dark, they crossed the street to an inn where they could settle down after a long day of walking the road.

"One room for one night, please," said Glaedr to the innkeeper. "Highest class you've got. Money is no object."

The innkeeper looked astonished. "Glaedr Swordsforge, of Rassan-Kaya? What brings you to the city this early? You can't be done with all of your commissions already!"

"I'm taking a well-earned break with my son," he said. "Now, if you don't mind, sir, we've spent all day walking here and atop that we've had a bit to drink, so we're quite eager to get to our room. Would you be so kind?"

"Well, sir, I'm afraid…" the man started, then opened his guest list. Scanning it quickly, he nodded his head and sighed, "… we're full at the moment."

"Full? A shame, that is," mumbled Glaedr. "In that case, show me a man who is not yet asleep and I'll negotiate his room from him!"

"I think you'll find that quite difficult to do," warned the innkeeper. "You'd be better off setting camp outside the city limits, just like everyone else."

"Everyone else?" repeated Oren.

"What, haven't you heard?" the innkeeper replied, almost in a mocking voice. "If you've come here to relax, you've picked a very bad time to do so. The renowned Dragon Riders of Alagaësia are due to appear at Rohall three weeks from now. We can hardly keep the visitors in order with our soldiers, much less keep them fed or give them all places to sleep."


	2. A Realization

**-2-**

**A Realization**

_After years of waiting, the opportunity of a lifetime finally presents itself._

...

It was late that night when Oren came to his senses once again. He never exactly fell asleep, but everything in the world seemed to move by in an ethereal blur ever since he heard the innkeeper utter those fateful words. He could barely remember his father taking him out of the inn and somewhere else. He could remember having an energetic conversation with him along the way, but could not recall any of the words. He now found himself in a strange dark room, lying in a bed that was not his own. His eyes couldn't decide whether to stay open or closed, but it did not matter because his pounding heart would never have let him sleep anyway. When he tried to stir, he found that nearly all his fingernails snagged on the bed sheet and realized that he must have mutilated them with his teeth without knowing it.

"Xandar," he silently uttered, wishing he could drift off to his world of dreams. But even Xandar did not come for him that night, not with real dragons and real Riders coming closer with every passing moment.

He sighed, and the dusty air of the room almost made him burst into a coughing fit. He remembered that he was in a rich man's guest room, a room which apparently hadn't been used in a very long time. He started to remember that after none of the inns would accept them, his father took him to an acquaintance among the city and begged him for hospitality for a single night.

"Three weeks," he whispered to nobody in particular, trying to find comfort in the sound of his own voice. "Three weeks and I'll get to see Eragon and Saphira. But are they still trying to find riders for the eggs? After six years, are the eggs still unhatched? They must be! They have to be! News of a dragon hatchling would have spread like wildfire."

He decided that, in the absence of his journal and pen, speaking to himself would suffice for today.

"To think that Saphira's children are taking so long to hatch! To think that they've been touched by thousands upon thousands of hands, but have rejected them all! They must know they are the last of their kind and have set high standards for their riders, or maybe just very unlikely ones. They must take after their mother! And Saphira… will she be as majestic as Eragon's words have described? I have never seen a dragon with my eyes or even a drawing of one, I have only seen the pictures my mind has drawn for me. Even now, I'm trembling at the thought of standing before one. How would a dragon's thoughts feel inside my head? Will I hear words when she speaks, or pure understanding? There is so much I don't know about them, yet, my desire to find out doesn't waver.

"It's just now starting to dawn on me how unlikely it will be for one of them to choose me. But it doesn't matter. I have decided that being rejected by them, becoming one of the thousands who have also been rejected, is not going to break my heart. I will be content forever just knowing that they have made their decision of me."

"But in three weeks, in just three weeks, I'll finally have my answer. This desire to touch the dragon eggs has been set into me and has bothered me every day of my childhood, and now I'll finally know whether or not it was for a reason."

"GAH!"

A voice suddenly screamed in anguish from somewhere else in the mansion, interrupting Oren's thoughts. Oren didn't recognize the voice as his father, but thought maybe he remembered it from earlier that day. Shoving all his thoughts to the side, he escaped from his bed sheets, pushed himself out of bed, slipped and tied his clothes back on, and carefully tried to feel his way out of the room. He found that the room was much larger than he predicted, but eventually found a wall to trace and emerged out into the main hallway.

He glanced down the lengthy corridor and spotted the bouncing rays of several candles cast upon the wall from a doorway near its end. He tread lightly on the hard floor, trying not to make a sound and startle whomever he approached. He wasn't quite sure what he expected to see or even whether he was doing the right thing. The voice cried out again when he was nearly halfway down the hall, screaming various words of curse and lamentation. It was undoubtedly coming from the lit room.

When he came to the end of the hallway and glanced inside, he saw an elderly man with a long white beard hunched over a writing table. Several tall candles lit the room from high above his desk. He clenched a piece of parchment with his hand and stared at it loathingly, as if trying to tear it apart with his mind. Oren recognized him as his father's friend and the owner of the estate, the man he had seen earlier during his bout of trance-induced amnesia.

"Is everything alright, sir?" Oren asked meekly from the doorway.

Instantly, the old man slammed his paper down and snapped his head around to see the boy. When he recognized who it was, his face lightened up considerably.

"Oren Glaedrson, is there something I can do for you?"

"I heard yelling," Oren said. "I was afraid something was happening."

"Oh, oh, my apologies," said the old man. "Sorry, I… I'm fuming over this letter I received, that's all. One of my colleagues has the brains of an ox. Half of his life savings was stolen because he refused to keep them in the king's treasury like I asked…" his voice faded down into a grumble as he turned to his desk and slammed his hand back onto the paper. "I'm deeply sorry if I've awakened you. I sleep late in the day and I do my writing work at night, you see, and I'm not used to having guests at this hour…"

"No, no, it's okay," Oren said. "You didn't wake me. I was already awake."

"Well, in that case, don't bother yourself with me," he said dismissively. "Go on and enjoy the rest of the night."

"Yes, sir," Oren said as he glanced back toward the dark hallway.

"Please, call me Andov," said the man. "As far as I'm concerned, you and your father have earned my friendship well enough."

Oren smiled in acknowledgement and moved to leave the room when Sir Andov raised an eyebrow and added, "Your father tells me you're looking forward to seeing the Riders."

"Yes," he said simply. "It's been a fantasy of mine to meet them."

"You know," he nodded, turning back to look at the boy in the eye. "It won't be easy to see them. You should be prepared; you aren't the only person in town with that fantasy. I've been around for a while, and I think I can tell you some things about them that might interest you. Tomorrow morning, I'll tell you everything I know."

"Thank you, Sir Andov," Oren said with a respectful nod. He once again turned to leave.

"Unless…" said the old man with a smirk on his face, stopping Oren's escape once more. "Unless that's the reason you're losing sleep in the first place. If that'd be the case, I don't see any harm in a little storytelling where we stand."

Oren fought it, but couldn't hold back a smile at the offer. "Fine, tell me," he finally said.

"Ah ha," said the man with a very wide grin as he turned on his stool to face him. "Us old men are more clever than you give us credit for. Now, the Riders. Where would you like me to start?"

"The eggs," Oren said, a gleam in his eye now. "How many of them did Saphira have? Have any of them hatched yet?"

"There were three eggs," said the man, turning to stare at the wall in an effort to recall his past. "I remember them clearly. Black, blue, and green, they were."

"How do you know?" asked Oren.

"Because I touched them myself when I was a child," he explained. "Eragon and Saphira were doing the same thing years ago, traveling from city to city and trying to find Riders for the dragons in the eggs. I remember the whole ceremony and all. I really didn't understand what the eggs were or why they were so important, I merely joined in because my father told me to. Fortunately for me, I was not chosen as a Rider. They've done this three times in the past, each time for the new generations."

"But didn't Saphira only lay the eggs six years ago?"

"No, but it was six years ago they began their latest trip around Aephea. Saphira's eggs have been around before you were born. Before I was born, in fact, and even before my father was born. It seems they don't want to hatch for anybody in all of Aephea. In fact, I believe this is the last time they are presenting the eggs to us. If they still refuse to hatch, they will be sent back to Alagaësia. Maybe the dragons insist on being born in their homeland."

Oren's heart sank just a little bit at the thought of the eggs being around for so many decades without finding one Rider. He was that much more convinced that the dragons would reject him as well.

"Did you see Saphira?" Oren asked a bit eagerly. "What did she look like?"

"I did," hummed Sir Andov. "Saphira… she was a sight to behold. And Blade, her mate, was with her as well. He was a green beast, smaller, and not quite as spectacular, whereas Saphira… she was blue, and she was nearly a third of the size bigger than him. When you see her at first, you'd almost have to strain your eyes to see her true color, since her scales reflect the sunlight so brilliantly. I've never seen such intimidating animals in all my life. They were a gorgeous sight, but you can guess that I was eager to leave the ceremony the first chance I got."

"What can I expect the ceremony to be like?" Oren asked.

"The ceremony isn't all that special," he admitted, "at least when I was there to see it. Eragon's a storyteller. He'll dazzle you with some of his words about the past, then he sets the eggs on the ground and everyone lines up to touch them and see if they'll hatch. After everyone has their hopes dashed, Saphira flies off to get away from all the people, and so does Blade, although they tell me he and his Rider are usually never around for the ceremony in the first place. Then there's a reception afterwards, where Eragon tells some more stories and talks with everybody. If you're lucky, he might show you some magic tricks or recite some poetry for you. Oh, and of course, everybody gets drunk out of their wits. Eragon stays around for about a week, more or less, and he offers to heal the wounded. Might be great if you accidentally scraped your knee at the festival or something, but he can't do anything like give you new arms or legs or even heal most of the worse sicknesses he's been presented with. All in all, a bit overrated, I'd say."

"Interesting," said Oren. "Do the Riders ever do anything else besides travel around and try to hatch the eggs?"

"Of course," said Sir Andov. "They've fought in many wars in Aephea to keep the peace. They're heroes to us all. But the last war hasn't been for almost two centuries now. It was a border dispute over eastern Aephea. Seventeen cities didn't want to live by the rules of one king, but another, so they took up arms and tried to change things by force. It lasted for nearly three years before Saphira and Blade put an abrupt stop to it. The presence of dragons here hasn't exactly encouraged uprising for quite a time."

"And so the Riders have nothing to do during a time of peace," said Oren. "I see. Except, maybe they could fly around and try to stop all the minor things like thievery."

"Don't be silly!" Sir Andov said. "You might as well ask them to put an end to lying and cheating. That just isn't their duty. Don't misunderstand me, I've no doubt that the world still needs them, but just not at the moment. On the other hand, news from across the ocean doesn't reach here but once in a shooting star, and the last recorded news we've heard of Alagaësia is that they're in a bit of turmoil ever since the Riders left them. I can only wonder why they didn't just stay there in the first place."

"In the book," Oren said, "Eragon said that he had no choice but to leave, even though he didn't want to."

"I know the story," he said, "but it's still something to wonder about, isn't it? Since, after all, he still refuses to tell us just why he left and why he never plans to return."

"Maybe that's why they're so eager to hatch the eggs," Oren wondered. "Maybe they want to send the new Riders back to Alagaësia in their absence."

It was indeed something to wonder about, something that they both knew they wouldn't be finding the answer to anytime soon. Their chat lasted a little while longer, Sir Andov explaining some of the specifics about where the ceremony would take place in the city and how it would be moderated.

"You should probably go back home to avoid these blasted crowds," Sir Andov said, "but if you return here in exactly fifteen days from now, I can help you get prepared for the event and make sure you get into a prominent position with the Riders."

"Thank you for your hospitality and your generousness, Sir Andov," Oren said with a nod.

"Think nothing of it," the man grunted. "Your father and his craft have served me well for all my life, it's about time I start repaying him in some better ways than just money."

With that, he handed Oren a candle to find his way back to the room. Oren returned to bed, his mind much calmer now and better prepared for sleep. He passed out very quickly and slept for a very long time, not even stirring until high noon.

* * *

"Oren! Come quickly!"

His father pounded on the door of his room, rattling him out of his morning dreams. He jumped up to attention.

"What is it?" he yelled as he got out of bed.

"What makes you think you're allowed to sleep the day away?" Glaedr complained. "The world is going by without you! Sir Andov has some news he wants to announce to us. If he waits any longer, he says it might be too late!"

"I'll be right there," he replied.

Oren scrambled to dress himself, then joined his father in the hallway. They walked through some cramped corridors before entering the rich man's impressive dining hall. The table was lined with various bowls and dishes, all ready for a meal.

"Ah, finally," Sir Andov said from the head of the table upon seeing them. "This is the second meal I've had prepared. Your father and I finished off the breakfast before you even arose!"

"I'm sorry," Oren said.

"Well," said the old man with a wink, "did you at least sleep well enough?"

"I slept very well, thank you," Oren answered with a smile.

"Glad to hear it," he said.

Glaedr and Oren took their seats, and everyone began to serve themselves. Oren appreciated the opportunity to have such a large meal to fill his tingling stomach. Keeping with Sir Andov's pace, they all ate quickly, and the table was cleared within minutes.

"Now then," said Sir Andov, clearing his throat when everything was finished, "Let us get down to business. I have a bit of news for you. Last night, when I heard of your interest with the Dragon Riders from Alagaësia, I've had some servants stand by at the town's meeting halls for any new information of them. As luck would have it, there came some very early this morning. The news is as follows: as of nearly one week ago, the Riders have left the city of Raxius."

"They're getting close," commented Glaedr.

"Indeed," said Sir Andov with a glimmer in his eyes, "but much closer than you think! I didn't expect you to be able to decipher the implications of this news as I have done, but that's just what I will explain."

Sir Andov yanked on a large pouch that was hanging from the back of his wooden chair and produced a very large scroll from it. He unrolled it across the table. It took Oren a moment to realize what he was looking at: it was a map of Aephea, but on a much greater scale than he had ever seen before in his life. The entire top of the map was lined with the notorious Mountains of No Passage. Far to the east, the ground seemed to dissolve into the ocean, forming countless deltas and crumbs of land. To the southeast, a great river sprouted from the ocean and snaked up and down as it flowed to the west, curving off the bottom of the map as shortly after entering the great western woods. The woods lined the western end of the map, flowing up and around in a mighty cluster until they connected with the mountains. In addition, a hundred dots and lines were drawn over the surface, indicating every road and city in what must have been the known world.

"Amazing!" Oren said as he gazed at the work of art before him. "This is all of Aephea, right?"

"It's some artist's rendition of the most of it, yes," said Sir Andov. "I'm a very lucky man to have such a thing. Now, do you see where the ocean begins out to the east? Leagues and leagues and leagues across that ocean lies Alagaësia. Nobody knows how far it is, but that's the ocean which the Dragon Riders flew across when they came here."

"You could spend half your lifetime just trying to walk to the ocean," Oren gaped. "I never realized it was such a long way."

"Now then," he said, turning his attention to a small portion of the map. "This is Rohall, the place where we sit right now. And down south here is Raxius."

He indicated two clearly labeled dots on the map and the road which connected them.

"If you were to leave right now and gallop to Raxius, it would take you no less than seven days to arrive there. But! That would be useless, would it not? The Riders have already left Raxius some days ago. They're no longer there. Instead…"

He pointed to a blank spot on the map a little bit east of Rohall.

"…they are here."

"They're in the wilderness?" asked Oren. "How could you guess where they would chose to camp in the wilderness?"

"It's just as much the wilderness as THIS little spot," he said, indicating another unmarked area up in the forest near the foothills of the mountains. "Recognize that little patch of the woods, do we?"

"Rassan-Kaya, 'friend of the mountains,'" remarked Glaedr thoughtfully.

"Indeed," said Sir Andov. "The author of this map has chosen to leave off the smaller, less significant points of interest, such as your little town was many decades ago. In the same way, I know for a fact that there exists a tiny village in this unmarked area of the wilderness which goes by the name of Qin."

"So what does this mean?" Oren asked. "The Dragon Riders are there?"

"They are," said Sir Andov as he folded his hands over the map. "It is a promise; I would bet my life's earnings on it. And since it's not a well-known village, they will not attract a crowd like they would here."

"What are you implying?" Oren asked.

"I swear to you," he said definitely as he rolled up his map, "that if you set out on horseback immediately and ride until the sun goes down, you will see Saphira and Eragon with your own eyes this very night!"

To say that Oren's face lit up at the words would have been an understatement. His father and the old man eagerly awaited his response, but it took several minutes for one to reach his mouth. Finally, he just said "… Is that so?"

"What do you think?" asked his father. "Should we go?"

"Sounds like an adventure," replied Oren with a wide grin. "If you approve of it, then let's go."

"Then so be it," announced Glaedr. "We'll ride for Qin Village."

It took less than an hour for Sir Andov to pack enough a day's worth of food for the travelers, fetch two of his horses, give Glaedr some detailed instructions to get to the village, and send them on their way.

Many thanks and handshakes were given to the old man at their departure, but he shrugged them all off saying that it was only his duty as a friend. Within the hour, they were off.

The nine-hour ride seemed to last for days. They stopped a total of four times to feed the horses and let them rest, also replenishing themselves with the crackers and water which had been supplied for them. As the afternoon faded into evening, the air became chilly again and the two travelers began to reflect upon just how mad they were for attempting such a trip.

"Are you scared?" asked Glaedr on their fourth and final rest stop off the side of the road.

"Of course," said Oren as he crunched on a cracker and held his coat tightly around him. "The closer we get to actually doing this, the more part of me wants to run away and never come back."

"I understand," Glaedr said nervously. "I'm scared too. To tell you the truth, when I was a child and the dragons were making their rounds, I made a point of staying away from them. I wouldn't be caught dead in the same city as one if I could help it."

"So you knew," Oren said simply. "When you told me about the eggs, you already knew long beforehand that they were there."

"I suppose so," Glaedr said. "Back then, I could care less about what the Riders were doing. I only told you what I knew because you seemed so interested in the book I gave you."

"Thank you for everything," Oren said solemnly. "For the book, and for being here with me today. I owe you so much."

"You owe me one promise," said Glaedr sternly. "The whole thought of dragons still gives me a weak stomach. After all this, you have to promise me that you will make Xandar be friendly to me."

"Xandar?" Oren repeated, mouth halfway agape. "How did you know that name?"

"You mutter it in your sleep," smiled his father.

When they were rested enough, they saddled onto their horses one last time and started the final drive to the village of Qin. As the miles continued to fall away behind them, Oren kept trying to squint ahead to catch any glimpse he could of the place which Sir Andov promised would be there. His vision faded further and further, though, as the sky grew dark and only the full moon lit the path ahead of them.

"Wait! Stop!" his father called, pulling on the reigns of his horse and slowing down. Oren did the same.

"Is something wrong?" He asked. "Did we go off course?"

"We're here," Glaedr whispered excitedly. He pointed to a narrow and hardly noticeable dirt path branching from the main road and into the woods. He carefully started his horse down the path and motioned for his son to follow.

They rode the path through the dark forest for a good half an hour. The horses whinnied in fright at every sound that came from the surrounding woods, but the riders managed to keep them focused well enough. Glaedr was also on his guard in case some creature would jump out at them, but thankfully none did.

At last, the forest ended and they followed the now clearly distinct path to the top of a hill. Below them, nestled cozily between the rolling hills of the grassy plains and shining in the moonlight, was the village of Qin. Oren scanned over the scenery but saw no signs of Saphira or anything that might resemble a dragon. Glaedr did the same as if by instinct, and also found himself disappointed.

"It's a bit late," said Glaedr in a worried tone, "but let's go in."

Oren nodded, and they both quietly strode their weary horses down the hill and towards the cluster of wooden buildings that constituted the village.

The first thing that Oren noticed about Qin was that it was deathly still. At that ungodly hour of the night, it was impossible to tell that it was not just a ghost town without a single living soul. He slowly coaxed his horse down what looked like the main isle of town, glancing left and right for any signs of life. Some hinge made a creaking noise nearby, causing Orin to jump straight up and nearly fall off the saddle.

"Saphira probably got hungry and ate everyone," Oren joked in a nervous whisper.

He turned a corner and started down a new row of buildings. There was a storage barn just like he had in Rassan-Kaya, and a well-house, some buildings that were probably workplaces, and then more homes with only darkness and silence emanating from inside. Eragon and Saphira were still nowhere to be seen. He started to feel the pangs of betrayal, but decided not to let his heart break just yet- After all, he had nothing to lose in the first place.

Before he knew what was happening, his horse started to whinny and rear up out of his control.

"Easy, easy!" he said as he pulled himself forward with the reigns, trying not to fall off.

It was only after the horse calmed down that he saw what the problem was. There was a giant pit dug into the ground right in front of him, a pit which the horse refused to walk into. It was massive. It looked as if someone had pitched a giant, jagged boulder from a nearby rooftop and stuck it into the ground.

Looking closely, he could see that three smaller trenches surrounded the first. He started to guide his horse around the obstacle, but soon realized there was another nearly identical formation nearby.

"DON'T MOVE!" a voice suddenly demanded of him.

Oren's head snapped around. To his horror, his father nowhere to be seen. Instead, he found himself alone with an angry man dressed in a dark hood who threatened him with a spear. He could only freeze, afraid to do or say anything. After all, he was the intruder.

"Get off your horse and face me," the man barked, jabbing the spear in the direction of Oren's face. He obeyed.

"I'm unarmed," Oren pleaded. "You don't need to threaten me."

"Sorry, but I can't trust that," snapped the man. Looking Oren up and down, he added, "You're a young one."

"Yeah, I am," Oren said nervously. "I don't mean you harm. I'm just a visitor."

"A visitor," said the man with an arrogant laugh. "If you're visiting us to rob us or murder us, I laugh in your face at your impeccable timing. I warn you: tonight, we're guarded by a dragon!"

"Show me to her!" Oren pleaded. "She's the reason I came!"

The man tilted his head and gave Oren a look like he was crazy. He lowered his weapon.

"Oh, _Oh,_" he said, "now I get you. An egg-hunter, you are. She's sleeping just over that hill. But I wouldn't disturb her in her sleep if I were you. You'd be a fool of the highest degree to wake a sleeping dragon. The ceremony is tomorrow. You'll have your chance at the eggs just like everybody else. I can tie up your horse for you, but you should go find a rock to curl up around and be patient, aye?"

"Thank you, sir," Oren said politely, guiding the horse to him and handing over the reins. "By the way, my father should be around this village. Have you seen him? He was just with me, but he's gone."

"Haven't seen him," the man said brashly, "but I wouldn't be surprised if he's bound and gagged in my brother's house right now, a bit like you were about to be. Go rest your little head somewhere and wait for tomorrow, aye?"

At that, the watchman turned and left, taking the horse with him. Oren started to look around for somewhere to rest, as the man suggested, but soon found that his restless heart had other plans.

He glanced back toward the village. The man was out of sight.

He turned his gaze toward the hill.

"I won't wake her," he told himself. "I just want to look at her. Just one glance, and I'll be content until tomorrow."

Taking one last look back, he began bounding up the hill. He ran slowly at first, but soon found himself running as fast as his legs could carry him, his heart throbbing harder as the hilltop dropped to reveal more of the night sky. With one final dive, he dropped to his knees at the hilltop and carefully peered over it.


	3. A Fulfillment

**-3-**

**A Fulfillment**

_Oren's dream comes true, and our story begins._

…

And there she was.

Saphira was more gorgeous than any of the dragons he had seen in his imagination. She was enormous, larger than even his father's entire workshop. Her beautiful sapphire scales shined in the moonlight, making her appear as a pile of living gemstones. Her massive leathery wings were neatly unfolded around her body as if to keep away all the nighttime annoyances. Her great head rested peacefully by the end of her forty-foot tail which was gracefully coiled around herself. Her head, neck, and wings were lined with glossy white spikes, each looking deadlier than anything his father ever molded. A worn old saddle was tied to her back right below the neck. Oren was completely transfixed at her majesty, unable to move or do anything but keep looking her over again and again.

Saphira's nostrils suddenly flared, and in a split second, her eyes snapped open and her head jerked up to attention. She looked straight at him. _Into_ him, almost.

He tried to duck back behind the hill, but his body's muscles simply would not obey him. He could only keep staring at her, his gaze locked into her deep sapphire eyes which betrayed both a ferocity and a wisdom of millennia. He felt as if his entire life had just ended right before his eyes, yet he was powerless to do anything about it.

"Saphira," he said.

Saphira's looked at him oddly. She lazily picked herself up and took a few steps toward him, but no more. She continued to keep her gaze locked on him.

"Saphira," he repeated.

Saphira glanced behind herself, then back to the boy which stood before her.

"Saphira!" he exclaimed. "Won't you say anything?"

Saphira grunted, blowing a plume of smoke from her nostrils. She took a few more steps toward the boy and leveled her head with his.

_You're not from this town,_ Saphira said.

Oren reveled as the telepathic words flowed into his head, deep and true like the spirit of a god. They felt massive and ageless, too large to be contained in his mind at once. He felt as if his own mind was limited within a cask which prevented him from hearing her entire voice.

"Saphira," he said. "I… I…"

_You know that it's considered rude to speak to me before speaking to my rider, right?_ she asked, tilting her head a little bit.

"I- I'm sorry," he stuttered. "You were the first one I met. Eragon is nowhere to be seen!"

_Precisely,_ she said, radiating annoyance. Her tail flicked at him as she turned around and returned to her original position. Her eyes drooped a little, but still remained fixed on him.

"Saphira," he said again. "I've always wanted to meet you. You and your Rider."

_You and your entire species,_ Saphira said. _Eragon is on his way now, in case you'd also like to bother his night's rest with your irreverent chatter._

"I'm so sorry," said Oren. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, great Saphira! I was spellbound by your beauty. I couldn't move! I didn't mean anything!"

_I'm also sorry,_ she said with a tint of sarcasm, _I don't mean to ridicule you, but I'm spellbound by weariness. I appreciate the flattery, but please, save it for when my mind is alert and I am able to comprehend what you say._

"Let her sleep," said a voice from behind him.

When Oren turned around, he was, of course, face-to-face with the great Eragon Shadeslayer. He was absolutely taken aback by Eragon's appearance, as it was nothing at all like the war-torn knight Oren had always imagined him to be. Instead, the figure which stood before him was more of a muscular-built middle-aged elf, complete with pointed ears, a perfectly symmetrical and flawless face, flowing brown hair, and pure, spotless clothes which could only have come from royalty.

"Eragon," he muttered, climbing to his feet. "I… I'm sorry about this. I came here looking for you, but I didn't mean to bother you. Really, I just wanted to glance at your dragon. I…"

"Calm down," Eragon said gently. "You aren't the first person to have woken up Saphira in the night. People do that everywhere we go. You're very forgiven."

Eragon's voice matched his appearance completely: pure, delicate, but betraying of a deep strength hidden behind him.

"It's an honor meeting you, Eragon 'Shadeslayer,'" Oren said weakly. "I've always wanted to meet you. I traveled all day to this town just to meet you, and I've just ended up bothering you after all this time. I can't believe myself."

"Relax, relax," Eragon said, looking into his eyes and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Persistence is a virtue, above all else. You should be proud of it."

Oren felt a steam of calm fall through him, weakening his nervousness and helping him to think more clearly. He knew that it was Eragon's doing.

"Well," said Eragon with a sigh, "Since I'm here, I guess we could have a talk, if that's what you want." He sat down on the ground cross-legged, and invited Oren to do the same.

"Persistence can't always go unrewarded," he added.

_But apparently it always must go unpunished,_ Saphira said with a snort as she dropped her head back onto the ground and closed her eyes.

"Don't mind Saphira," Eragon said. "She's a bit annoyed right now, but she'll be better in the morning. There will always be another time to make a good impression on her."

"You didn't tell me you were an elf," Oren protested weakly, sitting down by him. "Not in your book. You said you were a man."

"Ah, there are many things I didn't say in that book," he admitted. "It was a story which had to be told, and a majority of the smaller details needed to be left out. I am both an elf and a man at the same time. It's something which just happened. I'm not even completely sure how and why it happens."

"I've read your book so many times," said Oren. "I… it's all just incredible. You're a hero."

"Thank you," Eragon said with a smile. "I'm glad it's being read and enjoyed, and especially by one so young. You should treasure your ability to read. There are too many people in this world who can't read. It's a shame, because that's the only way possible to pass knowledge farther than just single generations at a time."

"Eragon…" Oren said meekly, almost choking the words out. "I want to be a Rider. Ever since reading your book, I knew that's what I wanted to be. I'm so sure of it. I've always been so sure of it. I want to command a dragon and help forge a new future for the world, whatever that might entail. That's what I want, to be a Rider."

At his words, Saphira's eyes opened again and her head sprang back to attention. Oren held his breath as he waited for Eragon's reply, hardly believing that he had just said what he did. He wished he could take back his presumptuousness, perhaps to reword it and try again, but all he could do was wait and see what Eragon would tell him.

"Do you?" Eragon said calmly. "You've made it this far. You can see tomorrow if one of the eggs will choose you."

_You do not know what you ask for,_ Saphira said. _Being a Rider is more of a curse than a blessing. For every day of your life you spend laughing, you will spend twelve days crying. All your years will be filled with pain. Every small joy which might come to you will be overshadowed and defeated by a grave difficulty. Your life will become something entirely out of your control. Only fate will guide your way. I can't imagine why you are so eager for something which is so far out of your realm of comprehension._

"She's right," Eragon said gravely. "As I said, there is much more to the story than what was written in the book."

"It doesn't matter," Oren said insistently. "The world still needs Riders, and I am willing to become one. I'm willing to take on the suffering if it means fulfilling my fate."

"Your fate? How are you so sure of your fate?"

"I'm not," said Oren. "All I know is that my heart wants it badly. There are nights where I can't sleep because I want to know the answer. I can't live my life because I feel like part of myself is missing, and I can't find it anywhere. I feel… I've always felt like a Rider without a dragon."

Eragon's eyes widened in surprise at this expression of his. The words tugged on some sensitive heart strings that he sometimes wished could just be left untouched. Even Saphira stirred uncomfortably at hearing them.

"A Rider without a dragon?" repeated Eragon. "A Rider without their dragon is one of life's greatest tragedies. You say that as if you understand what it's like, yet you can't possibly know. The fallen Riders are as walking ghosts of their former selves. Do you rise every morning and spend hours wondering if life is still worth living? Of course you don't. Your heart is still whole. You so easily find the strength and cause to get through each day… Yet you imagine yourself as a man with such a shattered life?"

Eragon's voice trailed off and he glanced at Saphira. Saphira looked intently at the little boy.

_Are you going to answer him?_ she demanded.

"I don't," he admitted. "You're right, I can't possibly know what it's like to lose a dragon. But the pain I have is different. What would you feel like if you spent your whole life without Saphira's egg because it was never rescued from the king, but a fortune-teller still revealed your fate as a Rider? Would you spend your days mourning about how your grand destiny would never come true, just like I do? Would you feel heartbroken because your heart was never whole in the first place? That's how it is with me. Despair is not my pain. It's anxiety, and uncertainty…"

_Knowing your own fate is hardly something everybody has the luxury of,_ Saphira said. _I doubt your pain is as great as you say it is._

"His pain is very great," Eragon said. "That much I can feel."

"The pain will go away when I touch the eggs," Oren said.

_It will not,_ Saphira said. _I will lay more eggs very soon. And more after that, and as many as I can until the day I am slain. Would you lust after all of my children? You will. If my first three reject you, you will arise one morning and find your anxiety renewed when you hear of the fourth._

Oren had never considered that thought before. He looked at the wise old Saphira in wonder, knowing that he could not rebuke what she said. He grit his teeth in frustration, not quite knowing what to say.

"I can't take it," Oren said quietly as he felt the nagging push of tears in the back of his head. He held it back with all his might.

"You're very distressed," Eragon said, standing up. "I don't understand why it is causing you so much pain. People have come to me before, practically begging me to make them a Rider, but every one of them was wary of the consequences of becoming one. Your mind feels different to me than the rest of them did. You are the first to want it so unconditionally."

Eragon stepped closer to him, looking at him carefully.

"I would like to look at your mind," he said, "with your permission. I want to see what kind of person you are."

Oren touched his own forehead in apprehension. "My mind?" he repeated. "You want to read it?"

"I promise I will not look at anything personal to you which you do not allow," he said slowly. "I merely want to see you for who you are. _Eka aí fricai, un eka mulabra ono né haina._ I am a friend, and I mean you no harm."

Oren's eyes widened once more at the sound of the strange language. He knew that it was the ancient language of the elves, as many swords and castles and things in Eragon's book were named with words from it, and he knew that Eragon did not lie when speaking it. He gave Eragon a permissive nod, then braced himself for whatever strange sensations he would feel within his brain.

But there were practically none. Eragon's mental touch was so gentle, Oren could barely even feel anything of it. His probing thoughts were like feathers that floated down and brushed against various things, sometimes giving a very tiny tickle as they passed. Some images arose to his mind's eye as Eragon activated them.

Oren saw many of his old forgotten thoughts resurrected, triggered by other things which Eragon would touch. He saw as Eragon looked at his family, his home, his workplace, his friends from his hometown, the girls he had his eyes on, and all of the other basics of life he lived with each day. As promised, he only glanced at them all superficially, like taking books from the shelf and reading their covers without opening them.

"You live a good life," Eragon said. "You're a lucky man. You have been untouched by the greatest horrors of the world. Be thankful for your good fortune, and use it to do great things with your life where the less fortunate can't."

After searching around for a while, Eragon finally came to the part he was looking for. It was like another book, but it was large, heavy, and like a witch's spellbook which radiated immense energy, the very words on every page alive and constantly trying to cast spells upon one another. Eragon carefully cradled it between his tender probes, asking telepathically if he would be allowed to proceed. With a small twinge of regret, Oren gave his consent.

Although Eragon thought he was prepared to open the book, he was overwhelmed at what he found. Inside was a massive black hole which was busy trying to suck the rest of his consciousness into itself. Oren felt those same old feelings wash over him as Eragon opened them up, those feelings of utter longing, abandonment, uncertainty, and now, a small bit of hope which might fill that void. Oren felt Eragon retreat from his mind momentarily as if to prepare himself, then he returned to plunge headfirst into the black hole. Oren felt a new presence accompanying him this time, one which was a little more abrasive, but powerful, and equally as curious. He knew it was Saphira.

It all started with the book, _The First and the Last of the Riders_. Eragon smiled as he recognized his own pages from the book, and sent Oren a few amusing thoughts and images of him when he was busy writing it. But then he continued on, soon to see what would become of his own words within this boy's mind.

The words from the book formed images, and those images formed entire realities. Eragon was surprised by Oren's interpretation of the book's passages and deeply pleased by others. He saw that Oren had understood many of the subtle things he had placed into the book which he hoped would not go unnoticed. It surprised him at how well he was able to connect with many of Eragon's thoughts which had been expressed in the writing. Eragon and Saphira carefully glided through in this world, casually looking around and trying to learn what they could about the boy. The gravity of this universe was almost overpowering to them.

But then, they came to the place they were looking for but were afraid to enter. The entire string of reality seemed to swirl around and gravitate upon one altar, and on this altar stood a beast. The beast bore the description of a dragon, but not the resemblance, and Eragon recognized that it had been formed from the descriptions of dragons in his own book. Despite its odd form, Eragon could tell that the creature was extremely beautiful and important by the rules of this universe. The creature held up its claw in a friendly and beckoning manner, and all of the thoughts and dreams in Oren's head held orbit around it. It was such a solid and real vision that Eragon completely forgot he was no longer in reality and had to be rescued by Saphira's consciousness.

At last, as Eragon and Saphira retracted themselves from his mind, it all went black. He was once more standing atop a hill conversing with an ancient hero in a village far away from his home. Beads of sweat dropped from his forehead despite the chilly weather.

"Your dragon's name is Xandar," Eragon said with some amusement.

"Does it mean anything?" Oren asked. "The name just came to me one day."

"That is not a word I've heard in any language I've ever spoken," Eragon said. "You made the name, so it's up to you to give it a meaning. It can mean whatever you want."

"Well," Oren said nervously, still shaking at the experience. "Did you find what you wanted to find?"

_We did,_ said Saphira.

"You were right," Eragon said. "The structures I have seen in your mind resemble things that I've only seen within the minds of other Riders. Your dragon is the most important thing in your life without exception. Everything else is secondary. I have seen other things at the center of these voids in people's minds, such as wealth, power, and most often, a life's love, but nothing else can create such a distinct gravity as a dragon and a Rider to each other. This is the gravity which is in your mind. You were right, you want to be a Rider very badly, and your heart already resembles one. You really are willing to face the task, no matter the odds. The thing is, I can't help but wonder whether or not it's really for a reason."

"I know," he said. "I've been wondering that for all my life."

"I know you have," Eragon said with a smile. "But now you even have me convinced that it could be true. Has fate placed these feelings in you so that you would come here tonight and fulfill them? There's really only one way to find the answer."

Eragon started to walk towards Saphira and invited Oren to follow him. Oren held his heart in his throat, scared to get any closer to the great monster before him, but Saphira reassured him with some friendly thoughts that she was not going to harm him. At last, Oren stood face-to-face with the great blue beauty that was the last known female dragon on the face of the world, and he felt no fear.

"Well, should we show him the eggs?" Eragon asked out loud to her.

_At this hour?_ She asked. _This would be the first time we've ever given someone special treatment before the ceremony._

"Well, do you think Arya would approve?"

_Absolutely not,_ Saphira said with an amused snort. _But you are right, since when should that ever matter? It was Arya's decision not to be here at this hour in the first place, so she gets no say in what we choose to do!_

"Arya?" Oren gasped. "The other Rider? Where is she now?"

_She and Blade are never around when they should be,_ Saphira answered with a hint of annoyance at the whole matter. _They come and go as they please with no respect or regard for our mission to find Riders. Part of me hopes that you'll become a Rider tonight just so I can laugh in their faces when they return._

"Then so be it," Eragon announced. "Let's show him the eggs."

Saphira gave a deep, beastly growl as she rose to her feet. She stood on her two hind legs and swiveled the front of her body around behind her, where her claws brought forth three eggs from a hole in the ground.

_I always guard them with my life,_ she explained.

The eggs were set down in the grass right Oren, whose pounding heart kept from exploding only because Eragon helped to calm him. The first egg was a very light green with a tint of blue, like a pleasant hue of jade. The second was pure black, the only evidence that it even existed being the spotted reflections of the stars across its surface. The third was a very deep turquoise, the color of the ocean's depths. Oren looked twice at the black egg, noticing that it didn't have the white vein-like streaks across its surface like the other two did.

"How did you lay a black egg?" Oren wondered, looking up at Saphira.

"It's a mystery to us," Eragon said, "but there it is. Saphira's ancestors must have carried it as a hidden trait."

_Remember that they will probably reject you,_ Saphira reminded, _so do as you promise and feel relieved and not distressed that you have touched them. However, I know I would have said the same thing to Eragon had I been with him before my birth._

"About yourself?" Oren laughed. "Maybe your children will take after you."

_Maybe they will,_ she said. _Touch them and see._

Oren touched the three eggs, one at a time. He first touched the jade-colored egg, surprised that his hand seemed to slip over its surface without feeling anything at all. He wondered if they were ever dropped while being carried. He then touched the black egg, and finally the turquoise one. Nothing happened. None of them responded with a single sound or wiggle at all.

"How long until you know?" Oren asked.

"Be patient," Eragon said. "They might still be deciding."

"Deciding?" Oren asked. "I thought it was dictated by fate alone."

"Fate has many possible paths," Eragon said, "but only one is chosen."

The dragon, elf, and human were silent for about a minute more. The eggs still lay silent.

"And now I have my answer," Oren said with a grim but sincere smile. "Thank you, Great Eragon Shadeslayer, and you, Great Saphira Brightscales, for letting me be with you tonight and for entertaining my fantasy. My life will be at peace now, at least for the time being. I can already feel it."

"Your father was right, you know," Eragon said with a comforting voice. "A dragon is powerful, but a man can do many great things without one. You lead a wonderful life, Oren Glaedrson. Don't be afraid to do something with it! I want to read about you in the legends of Aephea someday."

"How did you know what my father said?" Oren asked, thinking back to the day they set out on the road.

"Because," Eragon said in a wizened tone, "I saw him in your mind. Part of Xandar personified him. You love your father very much. He's as import-"

_**SILENCE!**_ Saphira suddenly cried, a deafening telepathic tidal wave which might have woken everyone across the countryside. Both Eragon and Oren leapt in fright and turned their utmost attention to her. She stared intently down at the eggs on the ground.

_It's HATCHING!_ she cried jubilantly, her tail snaking back and forth behind her and her teeth bore in a great smile.

Eragon and Oren looked down at the eggs, but they still looked motionless.

"Which one?!" Eragon demanded, his eyes glancing back and forth at all three of them.

_I don't know,_ Saphira whined. She bent down to nudge each one with her nose, looking them all over for any signs of movement.

And then…

_CLICK!_

The little tiny noise pierced through the silence. None of them could see any visible cracks forming in the eggshells, but it was beyond the shadow of a doubt now. One of Saphira's children wanted to be born!

"And so it continues," Eragon whispered reverently. "The legacy is born anew. The Riders will live on. Right here, right now! And here in Aephea! For you, Oren!"

Eragon picked up and held onto Oren's hands in awe-filled excitement, shaking them vigorously. Oren could see his blue magic shining in his eyes. Saphira gave another gleeful whimper as another crack echoed from one of the eggs.

And then the egg began to move. It was the black egg which lay between the other two. Seeing this, Saphira quickly shoved the other eggs behind her and focused her full attention to the remaining one. She panted excitedly and continually prodded the egg with her nose and her tongue. Images of the little dragon struggling to break the shell were emitted from her imagination.

Eragon could barely contain his excitement. He watched in wonder and awe as the first of his beloved Saphira's children tried to emerge into the world. To him, it was as if everything he had ever fought for was culminating right before his eyes. He had succeeded in saving the dragon race from extinction and rebuilding the Riders. But could he succeed in training one? He shared his lessons and secrets with Arya ever since Blade hatched for her, but she was already a grown elf when she became a Rider. How much more there would be to teach this little human boy! Eragon suddenly realized that he was following in the footsteps of Brom, his childhood hero, in a whole new way. Like Oren, he was willing and eager to take up the challenge, despite what difficulties undoubtedly lay ahead.

"And to think Blade is not here to see this," mumbled Eragon as he fidgeted in eagerness.

_Then Blade does not deserve to see this!_ roared Saphira, her eyes now low and level with the egg.

Oren was petrified. No amount of comfort from Eragon (who no longer seemed to be supplying it) could settle his raging heart now. His very own dragon! Who would have thought? What would the dragon think of him? What would become of himself? How would he live the rest of his life? Could he really live up to being a Rider? All these thoughts clustered up within him and formed one massive deadlock which prevented him from moving a muscle. His eyes remained transfixed on the shifting shadow which was the egg of his very own dragon.

After a whole minute of struggling, the front of the egg erupted from within. A small black head poked out and sniffed at the chilly night air.

_My son!_ cooed Saphira as she sang a beautiful song of hums and growls from the depths of her throat. _My firstborn! Go out and meet your Rider!_

Forcing through the cracks in the eggshell, the little dragon gave squeaks of effort as his front claws emerged into the outside world. He wailed as he tried to drag himself out by anchoring his claws in the dirt and pulling, but he only managed to pull the rest of the egg with him. Finally, after another minute of desperate wiggling and croaks of frustration, the baby dragon gave a final thrust and escaped the egg, wrestling with the membrane and eventually untangling himself from it. Saphira immediately snatched up the shell and hid it somewhere behind her.

The newborn dragon's body was of average size, if not a little small. His tail, however, was unusually long, expanding about half a foot farther than either Eragon or Saphira would have expected. Pure black scales covered it from head to tail, shimmering like polished obsidian. Countless little white stumps of spikes and horns lined every part of its back. He stood up on his hind legs and stretched a pair of wings that were strangely not as long or broad as they should have been. His eyes contrasted the rest of his body with a piercing shade of red.

The newborn began to sniff about and crawl around much like a squirrel. When it took a few steps toward Oren, he instinctively caught his breath and shifted himself further away from it. Eragon laughed at the sight, and so did Saphira.

_You fear him?_ Saphira laughed wholeheartedly. _Go and embrace him! You think he's emerged from his egg after centuries just to bite you?_

But then, without any sort of warning, the baby dragon pounced through the air and struck Oren dead in the stomach, piercing his clothes and digging into his skin with all four sets of his little pointed claws. Oren could only gasp and scream at the pain as he fell onto his back, his breath completely taken from him. The dragon proudly strutted up across his chest and slowly approached his face.

_He likes you!_ Saphira laughed tenderly.

"He's an aggressive little one," Eragon commented. "Oren, don't be afraid of him! Let him know you like him too!"

The dragon stood at the very top of his chest, gazing down at his face with an evil-looking smirk. Oren took a shallow breath and very cautiously raised his shaking hands to capture the little beast. As soon as his hand got close enough, the dragon suddenly jerked to the side and slammed his head into Oren's palm.

Instantly, an inexplicable searing pain overtook him. It was as if molten steel had been injected into his hand and kept flowing until it filled his entire body. He could not scream, he could not even move a muscle. His limbs were frozen with the shock of the most hellish pain he'd ever experienced. He thought he felt his skull shatter into a million pieces and expose his raw innards to the outside environment. His vision became nonsense, replaced by a shifting mass of red shapes which animated his incredible headache before his very eyes. His ears heard only a shrill screech, and his feelings went numb and full of pins and daggers.

The pain subsided soon enough, and everything went dark.


	4. A Child

**-4-**

**A Child**

_A dragon hatchling has a mind of its own._

...

Oren woke late in the afternoon with a throbbing head and an aching body. He forced his eyes open, but was met only with a painful stream of sunlight which made them snap closed again. He realized that he must have been laying in the same place, in the same position, as when he passed out. He lay still for a few moments hoping that he would feel better, the chilly air helping to numb his head and the soft grass comforting his sore muscles.

With a groan, he raised his right hand above his eyes. He knew exactly what would be there, yet he wasn't sure how he could expect it to look. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he gazed upon his own _gedwëy ignasia_, a silvery oval imprinted onto the palm of his hand which marked his newfound bond with the dragon hatchling. It itched and burned as if someone had ripped off all the layers of his skin but the last one. He tried to scratch at it, but quickly left it alone when it just gave him more pangs of sensitivity.

"My dragon," he gasped, springing to attention and glancing around for the hatchling. He saw no signs of Eragon, Saphira, his father, or even his dragon. What he found, instead, was a sizable green dragon sitting atop a nearby hill and watching over him. It was much smaller than Saphira and had a face which did not at all emanate friendliness.

_At long last,_ the dragon said flippantly. _Could you have possibly been any slower to rise? I've nearly died of boredom because of you. You've failed to instill in me a good first impression, Rider._

"Where's Eragon? And my dragon?" he demanded.

_Long gone,_ the dragon answered. _You expected them to sit around waiting for you all this time? _

"They're at the ceremony, aren't they?" He asked, holding his head and trying to stumble up to his feet.

_The ceremony is long over with,_ the dragon groaned. _You've been sleeping for three days straight. They've been off feeding and raising the hatchling since you've been too lazy to wake up. Don't worry, _Rider,_ you'll be re-united with him soon enough._

"Three days?!" Oren yelled in disbelief. "I… I just… Is that normal?"

_Hardly,_ the dragon laughed coldly. _My Rider passed out for a few minutes when I bonded with her, but I've never, ever before heard of a pathetic Rider losing his senses for entire __**days**__. Many praises to you for being the first!_

"Blade," Oren said. "That's who you are. Saphira's mate, Arya's dragon, and… my dragon's father. Are you proud of your son?"

_I'm ashamed to have an idiot as a firstborn son!_ he raged.

"Why is he an idiot?"

_Because he chose an incapable little maggot like you!_

Oren scowled and started to say something in his own defense, but he realized there would be no point in arguing with a dragon, so he just stopped himself in mid-thought.

_Well, I suppose there is one good thing about it,_ Blade grunted. _Since he was stupid enough to choose you, it might just mean that he's the perfect match for you!_

The comment almost pushed Oren too far. "Don't ridicule me!" he yelled back. "We've barely even lived!"

In response, Blade forcefully shoved his consciousness into Oren's mind, causing him to recoil in surprise and grab his forehead. Blade's thoughts were very coarse and uncomfortable as they dug around in his memories and emotions, not nearly as gentle as Eragon and Saphira had been. Blade shoved things around carelessly as if he were digging through a pile of junk just to see what was at the bottom.

"Stop that!" Oren cried, clutching his forehead harder as Blade's tendrils twisted this way and that within him, churning his thoughts around.

_Oh, I'm sorry,_ Blade taunted, _did I annoy the young Rider? Your mind is a pathetic pile of carrion. You have no concept of things which every respectable human should know by now. Things which should be easy for you are made difficult by you. Your fear and nervousness are disgraceful. Even your smallest feelings cripple you and distract you from every aspect of your life. Your priorities are laughable. You are spoiled to the core, you know not the difficulty and pain life has to offer. You are unfit, at best, to be a Rider._

"That will change in time!" Oren insisted. "Once again, I've barely lived!"

_You have been alive for nearly two whole decades, that's quite enough time,_ he said. _It is your puny __**mind**__ that has barely lived! And your father is no better. How irreverent your whole family must be! I'd like to have a talk with his father or whoever it was that saw fit to give him the namesake of a dragon he is not worthy to even utter. _

Oren grunted in aggravation, seeing that it would probably be impossible to talk the dragon into having a favorable opinion of him; He really wished Blade would just go away. He thought it was awful that Blade did not think highly of his firstborn son or even Saphira herself, but he just didn't know what else to say about it.

"Thank you, Blade," said a female voice from behind him. "Your duty is done. You are free to leave."

He turned to see Arya, the elven princess, coming to the top of the hill. Even though her face was fair enough, there was something dark and difficult about her. It was like she had lost her childhood innocence so many years ago and didn't give a second thought to trying to get it back. She wore an unappealing white tunic that somehow didn't do her justice, and covered it with a thick black coat to help her cope with the cold climate. Her long black hair was tied in a ponytail, yet it was still tangled this way and that. When Oren had seen Eragon, he thought for sure that, based on his appearance, elves could command some sort of magic to make their physical appearance clean and picturesque. If it were true, he had to wonder why Arya had stopped using it on herself. She nodded to Blade, who immediately grunted and flew off.

Although in the presence of yet another distinguished hero who was just as great as Eragon, Oren felt strangely different about himself now than he did earlier. His shyness had subsided, his confidence was surprisingly strong and effective. He wondered if it had come from his new bond as a Rider. When he opened his mouth to speak to her, he said exactly what he wanted to say.

"Arya," Oren said calmly. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm sorry that I don't know what other names to properly address you by..."

"That is fine, Oren," Arya said. "Come with me. Everybody wants to see you. We'll have plenty of time to talk later."

"Is Blade always like that?" Oren asked, still feeling some pangs of shame from his accusations.

"Blade has his pride," she said simply.

She led him around the town and into the forest beyond. The forest was much less menacing drenched in the sunlight than it had seen the night Oren rode into Qin. The terrain of the forest was jagged and hilly, and the path which he traveled with Arya was a straining one.

"Why so far in?" he wondered.

"We have to keep the news hidden for now," Arya explained. "You must tell nobody of the dragon except those you trust the most. That will change someday, but please believe me when I tell you that you're not ready to become famous just yet."

"I believe you," Oren said. "What did you tell the people when you only had two eggs to offer instead of three?"

"That was a problem," she replied. "We thought about it, but when the time came, we decided to tell them the truth. We said that a Rider had been chosen already, but we wouldn't tell them when or where."

"How is the baby doing?" he asked eagerly.

"See for yourself," Arya said. "We're here."

At last, Arya shoved aside a nearly solid wall of shrubs to reveal a clearing. In the center of the clearing stood Saphira, Glaedr, and Eragon with the hatchling in his arms.

"They've been waiting for you ever since Blade called me," Arya said. "They're all eager to see you, especially the little one."

A cheer arose as Oren stepped out of the woods and approached them. Glaedr rushed up to his son and hugged him tightly before he could say a word. Oren enthusiastically returned the embrace.

"Welcome back, my boy!" he shouted proudly. "You had me so afraid! I'm so happy for you."

"You had us all afraid," Eragon said. "I was worried the infusion had killed you, even though I've never heard of such a thing. But you kept breathing, and the hatchling stayed healthy, so we figured it would just be a matter of time. Do you feel alright?"

"I'm a bit dizzy," Oren said, "but I'm fine, I think."

Knowing that he was very eager to see his dragon, Glaedr let go of his son very quickly. The little black-scaled child had grown much in the course of just three days, now having as much mass as a small dog. It squealed in glee when it saw Oren approaching and struggled to escape Eragon's arms. Not wanting the child to take Oren off guard for a second time, he kept it well-contained and uttered some calming words to settle it down.

_The little one missed you,_ Saphira said gently. _He barely slept. He stayed up at night just trying to call out to you. We couldn't do anything to comfort him. He even kept _me_ awake._

Eragon stretched out his arms to offer the little dragon to its rightful owner. Oren took the squirming little beast into his hands as best as he could.

Oren's heart seemed to melt as he looked at his little friend. It _did_ like him. He knew it because he could feel its thoughts with his mind. He realized that his consciousness was now free to wander outside of the confines of his own self, a feeling which Eragon had described in his book but Oren was unable to imagine for himself. He felt the dragon's tendril of thoughts attack him, wrapping itself around his mind tightly and plunging the end into him as far as it could go. It felt a little discomforting, like having someone's thumb constantly pressed up against the back of his head, but he grew used to it soon enough. The dragon made some purring noises as it lifted its head to Oren's face and tried to touch his nose with its own, its blood-red eyes gleaming with affection. Oren ran a hand over its back as if to pet it, but stopped once he felt the scales tearing at the rough skin of his hands.

"Does he have a name?" Oren asked, not taking his eyes off the dragon.

_We have not named him,_ Saphira said. _You will be the one to do that._

"But not yet," Eragon explained. "You should wait until he grows a bit and he can understand you better. He has to be able to tell you if he agrees with the name you choose."

_We do not choose our own names,_ Saphira said, _but they are very important to us. Take great care to choose a name that he likes._

The hatchling wiggled out of Oren's grasp and crawled up his chest, poking his skin with claws that were quite sharp. It climbed up onto his shoulder and looked content to stay there, leaning against his head and curling its lengthy tail around the back of his neck to rest on his other shoulder. It gave an excited cry as if it considered itself Oren's rider and it was ordering him to get moving. Oren was amused at the thought.

"What now?" Oren wondered out loud. "I'm a Rider now. My dragon is only three days old. What should I do? How can I take care of him?"

_Talk to him,_ Saphira said. _Talk to him constantly. Tell him everything you know and everything that even comes to your mind. Even though he is so young, he will understand every word you say as long as you supplement them with your thoughts. Our inherent instincts allow us to learn about the world very quickly._

"A gift that you will one day share with him," Eragon added. "Everything he has will be yours to share, even the wisdom which came from his ancestors. Because of Saphira, my training passed very quickly and I became a formidable swordfighter in less than a year. I was able to pick up new skills in months where it would have taken somebody else decades."

_I've been trying to pour as many thoughts into him as I can,_ Saphira said. _But it is your voice which he needs to hear now, not mine. He will not learn your spoken language unless you speak it to him._

He turned his attention to the dragon's mental link, which still had his mind held in a brutally tight deadlock. _What do you think of all this?_ Oren asked it, wondering how it would respond. The dragon answered him, but with some obscure feelings which he didn't quite know how to interpret.

"What are our plans?" he asked as he reached a hand up to stroke his dragon's leathery wings.

"We'll take things as they come," Arya said. "Neither I nor Eragon have ever needed to train a young Rider such as yourself. It will be a learning experience for us as much as for you. For now, though, I think we should stay near this village for a few more days until the little one has grown enough to stand on his own. After that, we can return to your hometown and decide how to continue from there."

"You heard him," Oren jokingly told the dragon, "hurry up and grow so we can go home!"

But the dragon didn't answer him this time. Even the tendril of thought had weakened its hold on his mind, transmitting only a simple feeling of satisfaction. Oren glanced up and saw that the dragon had fallen asleep right there on his shoulder like a contented familiar. He was touched at the sight.

_Finally!_ Saphira said with a smile.

* * *

"So, how does it feel?!" Glaedr eagerly demanded of Oren.

Although the village of Qin was just a habitat and not at all built for visitors, it still had a social tavern of sorts which provided food and drink to whoever would come. It was late that evening as Oren and Glaedr sat at a table under its roof. Even in the prime hours of the evening, the place could barely even classify as active with only twenty or so people within – but it was still noisy enough to mask their conversation.

"Are you happy?" Glader asked.

"I don't know what to think quite yet," his son admitted. "I've been thinking about it a lot, and as far as I know, my whole desire for a dragon could have just been a curse to make me chase after one. Saphira and Blade have been saying the same things to me, that the life of a Rider is not a pleasant path at all. The gods only know I'm not ready for any of this, though there are times I think I am. Just the fact that I'm so full of glee over my hatchling goes to show how naïve I am."

Glaedr felt far too guilty for getting himself captured and missing the hatching, only wishing he could somehow make it up to his son. He knew his words of encouragement could hardly do that, but it was all he had to offer him at the time.

"Stop looking at it like that," insisted Glaedr. "Arya told me that Blade was trying to talk circles around you. Don't mind him when he ridicules you. Your little flaws hardly matter in the great scheme of things. As far as I'm concerned, the little thing chose you, and that means you were meant to be with him. End of the story."

"But it's not the end, is it?" Oren said with a far-away look in his eyes. "It's only the beginning."

Oren raised his hand from the table and slowly turned the palm upwards, letting his father get a good look at the silvery marking but trying to hide it from other prying eyes. Glaedr lifted the hand up and inspected it for a few moments.

"This is for real, isn't it?" he uttered. "I'm still finding it hard to believe. How are we going to raise a dragon back at home? Where will it live? Should I build a separate house for it? How big is it going to get? What does it eat? How much will it cost to keep it healthy?"

"I don't think we have much to worry about," Oren said, retracting his hand. "Eragon's book says that dragons are resourceful enough on their own. We could probably leave it in the mountains and it would grow and thrive there just fine."

"I'd like to be able to show it a little more affection than just that," Glaedr said. "I'll tell you what: we should let it sleep in our house until it gets too big. Then, we tell everybody about it. Everybody in Rassan-Kaya. We have them swear secrecy so that our town doesn't get flooded with idiots overnight. We threaten that they'll get eaten if they disobey! Then the dragon can stay anywhere he likes around town."

"I like it," Oren said. "But let's do as Eragon and Arya say and take it one day at a time. All three of us can decide on something when the time comes."

Oren suddenly stopped talking, finding himself overcome with a small bout of paranoia. He glanced around room and thought noticed that a lot of people were staring at him… although something told him that it was just his mind.

"We should go," Oren said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "We might have been talking too loud."

"Fine, then," Glaedr said, putting down his cup.

As they walked back up the blackened roads of Qin, it reminded Oren of his first night there and how dead it was. He couldn't help but glance around and marvel at the dark houses and empty streets. Where was everybody? Did they sleep their days away? Were they all shy? He saw about three people walking quietly walking through the streets as he traversed them, but as they got closer to the southern edge of town, all Oren could see in the way of company was a cat sitting on a nearby barrel, watching them with glittering eyes.

"Rassan-Kaya is smaller than Qin by area," Oren noted, "but it's bustling with activity compared to this place..."

He tried to complete his thought, but couldn't. A strange thought began to distract him.

"You're right," Glaedr said. "But remember, this little place isn't as fortunate as we are. The men are probably all out on a hunting trip to prepare for winter."

Oren tried to reply, but something was bothering him. He couldn't quite tell what it was.

"Is something wrong?" Glaedr asked, noticing his annoyed expression.

As if by some strange instinct, Oren knew exactly what was wrong. He turned to look at the cat that had watched them pass by. Upon closer inspection, he found that it wasn't a cat at all. It was his dragon.

"_You!_" cried Oren in astonishment.

The dragon sat proudly upon the barrel like some dark sentinel, its eyes gleaming red from the reflections of the lanterns farther back in the village. It gave a little growl as if to say, "Here I am!"

"What do you think you're doing following me?!" Oren demanded as it picked up the little devil. "How did you ever escape from Saphira?!"

The dragon replied by touching Oren's mind with a thirsty feeling. It wasn't a thirst for water, but for knowledge and understanding. It told him in thoughts and feelings that the world felt like a such a big place to him, something which he couldn't yet hope to comprehend, and that he wanted badly for Oren to guide him through it and be with him. He noticed that its thoughts were completely devoid of remorse or even comprehension that it had gone somewhere it shouldn't; it felt proud of itself for being faithful and thought it was earning Oren's respect for its action.

"You have to stay secret!" Oren scolded, backing up his words with displeased thoughts. "Please, stay with your mother and the Riders. Please! We can't have you being seen! Not now!"

The dragon started to express regret and remorse, although it clearly didn't know what it had done wrong. Its thirst for understanding grew even greater.

"Maybe you shouldn't be so afraid for it," Glaedr suggested. "The little thing is black, it must be good enough at sneaking around. Just look how good it is at hiding in plain view!"

"Maybe," Oren said, cradling the dragon. _He's right. You may make a fine shadow-prowler someday, but I need to obey Saphira and start spending time with you. I promise that I'll spend all day tomorrow with you._

* * *

The next day, when Oren questioned Saphira about the little one's escape, her only reply was "Oops." He decided to forget about the whole issue.

As promised, Oren spent the next day conversing with the dragon, as well as the following few days after that. He took walks with it in the forest and described everything he knew about everything he saw, from the way the birds lived in trees to the way you'd find swarms of bugs underneath dead logs to the kinds of rocks laying on the forest floor which contained metals that could be used to reinforce certain things his father made. When he couldn't think of anything else to describe to it, he told it his life's story as best as he could remember. He told it recollections of his childhood, his beloved father and uncle and how they raised him, his long and tedious devotion to becoming a master smith, his fascination with Eragon's legend, and his desire to be a Rider. He felt the dragon's mind grow rich with insight and confidence each day, and he marveled at the fact that the hatchling was actually drinking in all of his babbling and learning from it.

Sometimes Eragon would quietly watch him from afar, and it would bring back certain long-forgotten images of the days he spent in The Spine with Saphira. He would share these memories with her, remembering the fading days of his childhood innocence when he would empty his anger about Roran into her understanding mind or find comfort in simply watching her fly around. It was the first bonding of a beautiful and powerful friendship, one that was being created anew right before their very eyes.

_How far we've come, little one,_ Saphira whispered to Eragon one day when they were watching Oren play with the dragon by the bank of a lake. _I have my own memories of those days. They're dim, but I treasure them dearly. I am what I am today because of how you cared for me then. And look. Just look at my son! Isn't he magnificent? He's growing so fast. He's well on his way to maturity, thanks to Oren. Look at how quickly their bond is forming. I couldn't have wanted a better Rider for him._

"I look at him, and I have to wonder if he really knows what's going to happen to him," Eragon said. "He likes having a dragon, he's prepared himself for this bond, but does he really have a concept of how far it will go? What it will become?"

_He can't,_ Saphira said very solemnly. _It's much too early for that. Just let him enjoy the simplicity of life for a bit longer before everything he knows is pulled out from under his feet._

Oren sat close to the edge of the water as the dragon danced around and over his legs, sometimes listening intently to his banter, other times sniffing and playing with various things that held its interest. He was just finishing up an interesting dissertation on a girl he once wanted to marry when the dragon interrupted him with some curious thoughts about the pond which lay before them. It asked a very silly question, one that roughly amounted to "how is someone expected to drink all of that?"

"It's a home," Oren explained. "Creatures live down there. Just like you and I breathe the air, there are some creatures that breathe the water instead. They're hidden down there. They're called fish. They spend their entire life swimming around in circles and eating smaller fish to stay alive. We eat them too, since there are so many of them and they're so easy to catch. I don't like fish, though. You can go in the water if you want, but you need to take a breath of air first since you can't breathe water like the fish can. You have to come back out when you need more air. Believe me, you'll know when you need more air."

Some very odd images arose from the dragon's mind as it wondered what it would be like to enter the water. He wondered whether he would sink to the bottom and be trapped forever, just like the pebbles and things that would fall into the water pits which he drank from.

"No, you'll float," Oren said. "Your body is full of air, and air wants to be with air. So if you keep your body still, you'll rise back up to the top. It's not hard at all, actually. Just follow your instincts. I would think that it would feel a lot like flying. Of course, you still need to try flying someday."

The dragon stepped up to the shore. Eager to experience the water for itself, it dipped its front claw just an inch below the surface. It retreated almost immediately, a vibration of shock echoing into Oren's mind. It was _cold!_

"Hah," Oren laughed. "That's a problem. We usually don't go swimming until the warmest days of summer because it's too cold this time of year. You could freeze to death!"

Suddenly, a feeling of determination pulsed from the dragon's mind, and it dove headfirst into the water. Oren sprang up at once and rushed to the shore's edge, quickly contemplating whether or not to jump in after it. However, the dragon sent back a confirmation that it was fine, that it figured out how to swim, and that it was really fun. It gave him some images of trying to catch the slippery little fish which were continually evading its grasp.

Then, before Oren even knew what was happening, he was slammed backward into the ground by a wall of freezing cold water, as if the entire lake had been emptied straight onto his face. The horrible crashing noise only came to his ears after the fact.

Saphira had plunged down from the sky and into the water after her son.

He could barely move, his skin erupting into horrible shivers and his muscles cramping from the sheer impact of the blast. His hand slipped across the now-soaked dirt as he tried to push himself back up. He could feel the little dragon's terror as it was suddenly thrown out of control and lost its breath of air, not understanding what it had done wrong and knowing that Oren was too far away to help it. Saphira snatched him up soon enough and came out of the water with him. It could do nothing but gag up scream after scream of agony as Saphira placed it back on dry land.

_Sorry,_ she said curtly when she saw she did to him. _Some humans are afraid to swim. I didn't want to take a chance._

"It's… okay…" Oren croaked as the hatchling scrambled onto him and buried its shivering head into his neck, still screaming like a traumatized baby. "You're being a good mother."

_Thank you,_ she said as she shook her enormous body and sprayed drops of water in all directions.

Saphira kindly lowered her head over Oran and took a very deep breath. She exhaled a long stream of scalding hot air onto him, causing the moisture on surface of his skin and clothing to sizzle. His body gave a great shudder of pleasure as the cold water all evaporated, leaving him almost as dry as if nothing ever happened. The warmth brought a level of comfort to the child as well, but it still couldn't stop crying.

_You also need to learn how to be a good mother,_ Saphira said. _No more swimming for him until he grows much more._

"If he ever decides to swim again after this," Oren said coldly.

He put his hand to the dragon's head and rubbed it softly, trying to comfort it as squeals of anxiety still roared from its little mouth and terrified thoughts still surged through its mind. The shock of being completely helpless under the water just wouldn't seem to go away.

"It's all over with," he said to the distressed little thing. "It's all in the past. You're safe now. Everything's okay."

The dragon started to calm down after a bit, but its terror slowly faded into a different emotion. It was shame. It felt that it had betrayed Oren and was worth nothing to him, and it pleaded desperately for forgiveness and acceptance. It felt fear that Oren would disown it never want to see it again.

"Stop it," Oren said sternly. "I don't feel like that. I never will! I'm your Rider! You'll always belong to me."

The dragon kept yanking on Oren's heart strings, almost enough to make him cry as well. Oren looked up at Saphira.

"Being a mother isn't going to be easy, is it?" he said weakly.

_I suppose it will be as difficult as we make it,_ she replied.


	5. A Name

**-5-**

**A Name**

_The hatchling chooses a name for itself, but not the one Oren had hoped for._

…

By the time the dragon was sixteen days old, it had started to gain a sense of how not to annoy its caretakers. It learned that following Oren or any of his friends into town was not was a good thing to do, so he stayed with Saphira whenever they were not around. It learned to stuff itself with food during specific times of the day instead of running off to hunt whenever it felt a twinge of hunger. It now slept at night, understanding to an extent that the sunlight was there to help it see during the day and that the darkness was there to help it settle down during the night. What confused it badly was how Oren would continue to sleep in the morning long after the sun was already up, and it made a point of correcting Oren's mistake every day.

On that sixteenth day, Oren awoke to the now-familiar nuzzle against his face. The dragon had grown so much larger in the past few days, now being nearly three feet long from head to tail. Fortunately, it had stopped its habit of pouncing on him when it started to understand and share Oren's pain.

"Good morning," Oren groaned without opening his eyes, "but can you let me sleep for just a little while longer? I stayed up last night."

The dragon didn't relent. It started to lick his face, trying to get his eyes to open. _Rider,_ it said.

Oren's eyes blinked open in surprise.

"You speak!" Oren exclaimed as it reached a hand out to touch it.

_Rider,_ it said again, the word very clearly ringing in his mind.

Oren hadn't heard a telepathic voice quite like this one before. I wasn't authoritative and proud like Saphira's, and it certainly wasn't heartless like Blade's. It was the tiny little clamor of a child who just wanted a playmate.

_Rider!_ It exclaimed, still trying to rouse Oren from the ground.

"Yes! I'm your Rider! But you do know that I have a name, right?"

_No._

Oren looked at it funny as he sat upright and started to scratch it on the chin. He thought it seemed a bit sticky.

"My name's Oren. Why not call me that?"

_Rider,_ it replied.

Oren crossed his arms in frustration. "Well then," he said, "in that case, I shall just call you _dragon_. Is that what you want, _dragon_?"

_No._

"Hmph," rumbled Oren at the hypocrisy. Then, after a moment of thinking, he added, "Wait, you've got a point. Now that you can express your opinion, I can give you your name!"

_Rider, __**come!**_ it pleaded as it pranced up and down.

"Okay already, what is it?"

Oren finally rose to his feet and followed the little dragon a ways through the forest, not having the slightest idea where it was leading him. He assumed that it had found some new natural phenomenon which it wanted Oren to teach it about. After a good ten minutes of walking, the dragon stopped and stood before the carcass of a mountain redwolf. It was still warm and limp, about as fresh as dead things could get. It took him a second to realize that the dragon was gloating over it.

"You killed _that?_" Oren said in half-disbelief. The redwolf was three times bigger than the hatchling.

_Yes,_ the dragon answered, nudging at the fatal wound in its neck.

"Was it difficult?"

_Yes,_ it said. Even though Oren couldn't see any wounds or scratches on the dragon's hide, its thoughts told him that the wolf had put up a good fight and that the dragon was immensely proud of the kill.

Oren watched as the dragon began his feast on the kill, its claws and snout becoming a bloodied mess and its tail wildly flicking around behind it.

"Does it taste good?"

_Yes!_ it crowed with a deep glee.

After a few bites, it grinned at him with bloodstained teeth and expressed a desire to share the accomplishment.

_Rider, come!_ it said.

"Oh, no thanks," Oren said with a bit of regret. "Humans need to cook the meat before they can eat it, otherwise we'd get sick. But when you can breathe fire, you can roast all the meat for me you want. I promise!"

The dragon's satisfaction turned a bit grim, but it accepted Oren's regret and kept on tearing out the wolf's innards all for itself. Oren sat down and watched it eat, letting it know that he was very proud of it. Although, he was curious to see if it was actually going to try to finish the whole thing.

* * *

Later that day, Oren informed his father and the other Riders that his dragon had spoken its first words. Eragon suggested they hold a little naming ceremony for it, so they all gathered in the clearing and listened to see what title the little one would accept for itself. Arya was there, but Blade was still elsewhere.

"A name is a very important thing, but it does not change your fate," Arya told Oren. "Only your _true_ name, one that is completely invisible and rooted to your soul, has that power. Otherwise, your fate remains the same whatever people call you, whether it be 'Success' or 'Failure'. But a meaningful name will change the way people see you and even the way they see history. That is to say, the meaning of the name doesn't change you, but it is you who changes the meaning of your name through your life and your accomplishments. When your father, Glaedr, was given his name, it was given meaning by the life of the wise dragon he was named after. Today, your father might have added even more meaning to the name by his life's work as a blacksmith. Do you understand?"

"I think so," Oren said.

"Offer your dragon some names, but don't feel distressed if he rejects them," Eragon said. "The name itself doesn't matter, as Arya says, but it must be one he likes. He'll reject any name he doesn't like, but he also isn't going to choose one which you don't like. He understands that it's important to you, too."

"Okay," Oren said as he looked over his dragon. "You are Xandar, the noble dragon of the shadows."

_No._

Oren recoiled. "What?" he said. "You don't like Xandar?"

_No,_ it said again.

"But, why?" Oren whined. "Xandar could mean anything you want! What would you like it to mean? The Greatest Dragon That Ever Lived? The Prince of the Night? The Godsend!"

_No, no, __**no!**_ the dragon cried, radiating annoyance.

"Well," Oren said, radically disappointed. "How about… Obsidian, after the stone your scales look like?"

_No._

"How about Shadow," offered Oren, "the place where you are most at home."

_No,_ it said.

"Well," Oren announced, "I'm out of ideas. Can you help?"

"Names for a black-scaled dragon," Eragon said thoughtfully. "Hírador was a black-scaled dragon. So was Beroan, and Dezura, and Juron the Brave... And then, of course… so was Shruikan."

"Shruikan?" Arya practically spat. "You'd curse him with that name? What makes you even suggest it?"

"The name isn't inherently evil," Eragon said. "Maybe it could be given a new meaning by an honorable dragon like this one."

Oren repeated all these names to the dragon, and it answered "no" to each one.

Next, Arya tried to craft some of her own names from the elven language. Oren found them all difficult to pronounce, and only really liked one of them: "_Slythané_," meaning "one who does not sleep." Apparently the dragon didn't like it as much as he did, because that, too, was rejected.

After the dragon still had no name at the end of twenty minutes, Oren started to create some boring-sounding names from objects and places in his language. The dragon wasn't impressed. Oren finally had to throw up his hands in defeat.

"I can't think of anything else!" he cried. "Do you want me to give you a name, or not?!"

_No._

"No!? What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I guess he just doesn't want to be named yet," Eragon laughed. "Don't worry, just try again another day."

"Fine," Oren said with displeasure. "But I can't just keep calling you '_dragon_.' From now on, until you accept a suitable name for yourself, I'm going to call you '_Thing_,' since you have none. Okay?"

_No!_ it cried.

"Too bad, Thing," Oren said. "I don't care whether you like it or not. That will be your temporary name until you can choose a real one."

The dragon roared with displeasure at this edict, but Oren stayed stern. For a time.

Ironically, after only a few hours, his heart could not bear to keep it up. Instead of calling it 'Thing,' he simply called it _Skulblaka_, or "dragon" in the elven language. He found it to be a much more appropriate insult since the dragon still insisted on calling him "Rider" and nothing else. The dragon also didn't seem to mind it as much.

SCENE BREAK

On the nineteenth day, the decision was unanimous: it was time to leave.

Never having spent this much time away from Rassan-Kaya in his life, Oren was finding himself more and more homesick with each passing day. The dragon started to share his uneasiness and grew very cranky. Glaedr voiced his need to return home as soon as possible, since the winter season was now only a month away and he was more than a fair bit behind on his preparations. Blade also returned that day to remind the Riders that they were extremely late for their appointment in Rohall City. Therefore, the Riders met to discuss the matter. They decided that the hatchling had grown enough to handle a two-day journey, so they started making plans to leave immediately.

"We'll go through the northern wilderness so that you won't be disturbed on the main roads," Arya explained. "Saphira and Eragon will handle the hatchling as they fly, and you will ride beneath us."

"Is there any reason I can't fly with you?" Oren asked. "Saphira _must_ be big enough to handle me and my father at once with you!"

"Your first flight is something you really should experience with your dragon," Eragon said with a smile. "That, and because I think you brought some horses you need to return to their owner, right?"

_The horses!_ Oren had forgotten all about them. He suddenly recalled the old man who had taken them on that fateful first night. Were they still all right? What about the man? What did he think of the fact that their owners disappeared without a trace for nearly three weeks? He asked his father about it, and he was told that he had been keeping in touch with the man as much as possible for the duration of their stay. He explained that the man was known around the town as Ward, and that he had sent the horses to his brother who had no problem taking care of them for the time being. On their last day in Qin before the departure, Oren went with his father to the man to retrieve them and to say his farewell.

When Oren reached the top of that steep, green hill which separated Qin from the wilderness beyond, the same one from which he first met Saphira, the sight of the tiny little village struck a sentiment into him. As he took one last gaze down at that humble little plot of land, lined with its humble little wooden buildings and buzzing with its humble little community, he felt a bit guilty that such a monumental event had occurred among them and they weren't even allowed to hear about it. He felt sorry for Qin.

Glaedr lead his son to a sturdy-looking cabin at the western end of town. There, they met with Ward and his brother who gladly returned the horses to them. They had a little goodbye chat, and it was all fairly uneventful until Oren made the mistake of holding out his hand to offer the man a shake.

Oren was puzzled as to why his hand was not being accepted, but then the dreadful realization dawned on him and he tried to yank it back as fast as possible. Before he could escape, though, the hand was caught midair by Ward and given a hardy clenching. A dirty grin formed over the man's face.

"S'been an honor to stand in your presence and to serve ye, Rider o' th' Black Majesty!" he exclaimed. "We could tell something was going on when the black egg just got lost between here 'n Raxius, but this is incredible! Don't forget about us, 'Aye? We'd be proud to have you return here someday. May you and your steed never feel the sting of defeat!"

Oren was at a loss for words, both at the man's blessing and at his own foolishness. He pleaded to Ward to keep the secret.

"Not on your life, boy!" Ward said gleefully. "I'm going to tell everyone I know about this. But don't worry about what I say or do, I'm going to stay all silent until I feel the time is just right. 'Kay, Dragon Rider?"

"So be it," Glaedr said with some humor, still trying to shake off his own shock at the exchange, "but be warned: if you bring misfortune upon my son, you might just wake up one morning in the stomach of a beast!"

Ward heeded the warning with a chuckle, and they were soon on their way.

Once the horses were prepared and the dragons were both saddled and packed, the journey back to Rassan-Kaya began. The trek through the jagged terrain of the great northern forest was especially difficult, not nearly as fast or straightforward as racing down the common roads. Oren felt lonely times without his dragon at his side, but felt some comfort when Saphira flew low enough that he could touch thoughts with it.

_Are you sure you don't want to be Xandar?_ he once asked it.

_Yes,_ it responded.

'_Yes'? Does that mean you accept the name?_

_No!_ it cried.

'_No'? So you aren't sure?_

_Stop it!_ it pleaded.

_I'll stop,_ Oren said, _but on one condition. Please, just tell me why you don't like Xandar. That name has always been very important to me. I chose it for you over six years ago!_

The dragon didn't respond for a bit, only sifting through some purposeful thoughts as it contemplated how to reply. Finally, trying to word the answer as best as it could, it said, _Xandar is lesser._

_Lesser?_ Oren repeated, almost gawking. _You must hold yourself in very high esteem if you consider yourself to be greater than Xandar…_

_Not I_, it replied, _but you, Rider._

Oren truthfully didn't know how to reply. He knew that these words were a great symbol of the dragon's respect for him, something that was so deep and innocent, he didn't think he even had the power to reciprocate it. He responded with just _Thank you,_ focusing his attention once more on the path he traveled. He found it difficult to imagine Xandar, the mighty dragon from his dreams, bowing down before the little one.

The next time Saphira flew into range, Oren asked, _What about 'Nightmare', every man's greatest fear?_

_No,_ it replied.

* * *

Just as planned, the trip lasted only two days. They had to set up camp in the wilderness once, but it proved to be much easier than expected with the aid of two great dragons who could easily hunt, start fires, and chase away all the monsters of the night with only their presence.

"This will be the last night we spend with you for a while," Eragon said to the father and son as he kept himself warm by the fire. "As much as it pains me, we can't stay here with you just yet. Saphira and I need to complete our route with the other eggs. We've dedicated ourselves to this cause and we can't take back our word. We'll skip over Rassan-Kaya for now, but we'll return to you in one year. Oren's training will begin then."

"Wait," Oren said at the news. "How will I make it through a whole year like this? My dragon is growing so quickly! He and I are both changing in ways we don't understand. I just assumed you would always be with us to help. Are you sure I can do it alone?"

"The dragon will know what's best for itself," Arya said. "You don't need training to raise it. Keep it safe, give it your presence, and it will grow. As it does, it will help you to understand yourself as well."

"What about Saphira?" Oren asked. "A year is a long time for him to be separated from his mother…"

_I've never met my mother,_ Saphira said, _and I grew up just fine. The hatchling doesn't care about me. It's your presence which he needs, not mine. Trust me. And no, I won't distress myself over him either. When you have lived as long as I, years seem to pass as days. I cannot wait to see my son as a fine young adult when I return._

_Enjoy the last of your childhood,_ Blade told Oren. _You may miss it sorely once it has passed, and it will never return._

Before Oren went to sleep that night, he saw something he wouldn't have expected: Saphira and Blade were content to sleep curled up next to each other, his neck resting over hers. He had started to think, judging by Blade's earlier behavior, that he mated with Saphira only out of the obligation of being the last couple left. Seeing them so content together now, though, he wasn't so sure. Almost without thinking, he whispered a question to Arya before she had settled herself down for the night.

"Do they love each other?"

"Yes," Arya said quietly. "Why do you ask?"

"From the way he spoke when I first met him, I thought he hated her. And me, as well."

"Let me tell you something about Blade," Arya said softly. "His words can be harsh, but he's not a wild dragon at heart. He simply holds a great pride, something he's rightfully earned for himself. He sets high standards for those he chooses to respect. He thinks highly of people who rebuke his words with matched force instead of standing like a coward and swallowing them. It's something to remember if you ever want to earn his favor."

"But does he get along with Saphira at all?" he asked. "They can seem so… distant."

"He seems to enrage Saphira constantly," she explained, "but Saphira loves him. She would gladly die for him with only the permission of her Rider, and he for her."

"I would have never guessed," Oren said. "The relationships dragons have must be so much more complicated than the kind I'm used to."

"No," she said. "They're much more simple."

After that, Arya and Eragon retired to opposite sides of their dragons and slept with their heads up against their great scaly hides. Oren felt a little envious of them as he wondered what it would be like to sleep with the unimaginable tranquility of knowing that nothing, but nothing, could bother you as you slept soundly beneath a dragon's wing… but he felt a lot better when his own dragon came to snuggle up against him.

_Someday, Rider,_ said the little one as it closed its eyes.

It was early in the afternoon of the next day when Oren began to recognize the trees, rocks, and hills through which he rode. They were undoubtedly the outskirts of Rassan-Kaya, the place he had known well throughout his childhood. But even though he'd only been gone for three weeks, it felt as though he was returning home from a war; his homeland seemed to have a completely new look and feel to it. Once again, he wondered just how his life was going to change with his new companion.

The Riders flew above them until they started to get too close to the town to remain unseen. At last, they landed one last time to give Oren and Glaedr their final farewell. Saphira and Blade gave sort of a blessing to their son, telling him to grow strong quickly and to bring them honor.

Then, before he knew it, they were gone.

Oren was both joyous and nervous as he returned to his village with his dragon at one side and his father at the other. He didn't have the slightest idea what the dragon would want to do, where it expected to live, or how it wanted to occupy itself. He asked it, but its thoughts only seemed to reply with _Lead the way, Rider._

When Glaedr and Oren arrived back at their house, they were greeted at the front door with a very red and irate Uncle Ulan; it was impossible to tell if he was outrageously happy to see them back or just plain outraged.

"I got your note," he shouted a few moments later after an exchange where Glaedr had attempted to calm him, "and that was all fine and well, but one week! One week, you said! And here you come wandering back around three later! You expect me to cope with three weeks' work with a third of the manpower?! And with no advance warning even, _what are you_?"

"I promise you that it was worth your while, brother," Glaedr reassured. "I'm sorry we came back so late, and I promise that you'll be compensated handsomely for all the hard work you've done. That's about all I can offer you at the moment."

"Compensated with _what_?" He screamed. "Money? Neither us aren't getting' no money if our work don't get finished in the first place! Do you done got the slightest idea how close to trading day this is, huh? Do you even _know_ how much hasn't got done?!"

"Well, I'm back now," Glaedr said forcefully, growing annoyed. "Oren and I will work day and night if we have to. We promise we won't stop until it's all done."

"Yeah, you say that like it's an easy ol' thing to do," Ulan spat. "Like it's easy! Well I know full well how easy _that_ is! Three weeks I've been doing it! _Three_!"

It went on like that for a while. Finally, Oren gave his dragon permission to barge into the room and roar its little heart out just to get Uncle Ulan to shut his mouth and listen to reason. It worked wonderfully, and it even put his father in a state of speechlessness for a second.

"Finally!" Glaedr exclaimed as he bent down to pat the dragon on the head. "Someone who can complain louder than you, Ulan! I never thought I'd see the day!"

"Now what is _that_ thing?" Ulan demanded, lowering his voice a little. "What's it doin' in our house?"

"Priceless look on his face, isn't it?" Glaedr said to his son.

"T-that can't be what I think it is!" Ulan stammered. "That ain't one'na those miniature dragon-lizards, is it?"

"No, it's not," Oren said. "It's a full-sized one. It followed me home, so it's staying."

Glaedr smiled at the response, but his smile turned into a frown when he saw the look on Ulan's face turning into one of fuming disgust.

"Wait a minute, now!" Glaedr exclaimed. "You despicable boy! You told me this was a _dog_, you filthy liar! Haven't I taught you enough honesty? Have I? Well, you've just gotten yourself grounded. I'm locking you up in the forge until you can make me seventy-two spades. And take your _dragon_ with you!"

"Yes, father," Oren said, understanding completely.

* * *

_Pound, pound, pound._

Minutes seemed to pass like days when Oren worked in the forge. He hated the mindlessness of heating and pounding things, especially those things – like spades – which required absolutely no sense of art to finish. He enjoyed those times when his father taught him some of his advanced techniques of delicately pouring the metal into molds and making amazing designs and shapes with it, but mostly there was no time to do anything but churn out tool after identical tool to be shipped out to who-knows-where for sums of money.

Oren wiped the sweat from his forehead as he removed his fourth spade blade from the anvil and set it aside to cool. Sixty-eight left.

_What's wrong?_ asked the dragon as it sniffed around the new environment.

"Nothing, Skulblaka," Oren said, starting on the fifth. "Uncle's a bit upset. Father needs time alone with Uncle to give him a talking to, and I need to help them catch up on their work."

_Did I roar wrong?_ the dragon asked, convinced that it was the cause of the problem.

"No, you were perfect," Oren said with a chuckle. "Uncle's upset at us for leaving him alone, not you. Uncle will be your friend too, as soon as Father's done talking with him."

Still sensing tension in Oren's mind, the dragon wrapped its consciousness around him in an attempt to make him feel better. Oren responded by trying to shove it away.

"I have to concentrate now," Oren said. "I'm sorry. I appreciate the thought, but… it's like… a fly buzzing around my ear when I'm trying to focus on something else. It's distracting."

_Yes, Rider,_ the dragon said, uncoiling its thoughts from him and retreating. It wandered off into the other room to see what was there.

An hour later, the dragon could barely take the boredom anymore. It had sat there for what seemed like centuries as its Rider continually made the same _pound, pound, pound_ noises and completely ignored its presence. It had examined everything of interest in the entire workshop to the best of its ability, and was out of things to do. It decided to try bothering Oren again.

_Rider, what's this?_ the dragon asked, approaching him and indicating the glowing wad of metal on the anvil.

"That?" Oren said. "That's a spade. Well, it should be one, but it isn't quite one yet. It needs more pounding."

_Spade?_

"A spade," he repeated. "It's a tool used for digging. That's about it. It's like a shovel, but flatter. Sometimes shovels just won't work when the earth is too tough."

Content with the response, the dragon walked off to the next thing it saw. It stood before a massive fixture against the opposite wall, one with grates and hinges and complex-looking parts.

_What's this, Rider?_ it said, flicking its tail in interest.

"That's a furnace," Oren explained. "See how it looks just like this one I'm using? Father uses that one when we work together, but it's empty right now because he's not here. We light a fire inside the furnace and use it to heat the metal soft so we can change its shape."

The dragon nodded attentively at its explanation, then looked around for something else. It noticed a pile of scraps on the floor at the foot of Oren's bench, and picked up one with his teeth.

_What's this, Rider?_ it said.

Oren dropped his hammer, knowing that he wasn't going to get any more work done until the dragon was satisfied. "A knife blade," he said. "A broken one. Father probably broke it by hitting it wrong. We can melt it again and start over, but it's not as easy as using the prepared metal, so we save it for last."

_What's this?_ it asked, picking up a long, thick scrap.

"That's a stake," Oren explained. "It was also forged wrong. It got bent and it hardened before we could fix it, you see? Stakes are useful for pinning things to the ground."

The dragon put down the stake and wandered over into the far corner of the room, where a different pile of metal scraps sat. It nosed a very strange-looking blade which lay at the front.

_What's this, Rider?_ It asked.

"That?" Oren asked, walking over to see what it was looking at. "That's a scythe blade. Those are used for cutting down weeds and grass. Farmers have the greatest use for those. We don't do much in the way of farming here, but we still use them to clear out the overgrowth that gets in our way."

_Scythe,_ it said.

Oren waited for a few moments, but the dragon asked no more questions. He returned to the anvil to toss the prematurely cooled spade into the scrap heap, then started on a new one.

_Scythe,_ it said again, catching Oren off guard. The word sounded different, like it had been spoken at the far end of a long hallway and echoed into his ear. Oren turned back to the dragon, who was sitting proudly and staring him straight in the eye.

_I am __**Scythe!**_ it declared with a smile, radiating deep satisfaction.

Oren's eyes widened, realizing what had just happened.

"Scythe?" he repeated. "That's your name? You've named yourself Scythe?"

_Yes, Rider!_ it said with absolution. It reared up on its hind legs and stared at Oren, eyes gleaming with excitement.

Oren wasn't quite sure what to think. On one hand, a scythe didn't symbolize anything he wanted his dragon to take after. A scythe was no glorious weapon of war, but a humble farmer's tool. It didn't stand for power and strength, but difficult, menial labor. It certainly didn't conjure up images of legendary battles, heroic courage, or renowned fame; it made him think more of spending hours under the sun, growing wearier with every monotonous swipe of the blade. He laughed to himself when realized that it wasn't unlike the tedium of being a blacksmith.

On the other hand, he absolutely could not deny that he liked the way the name sounded.


	6. A Farewell

**-6-**

**A Farewell**

_As time goes on, some things need to change._

…

_Year 6, Day 48_

A storm raged outside as Oren picked up his pen and started to write in his journal, just as he always did before turning in to sleep. Tonight, though, he prepared himself to write the longest passage of text he had ever written in his life. His last entry was the night before he set out for Rohall, and he intended to recount everything before it all faded too far from his memory. Thinking carefully of what words to use, he began.

_This will be the last time I write my thoughts into this journal, for the story contained within these pages has ended. A new story has begun, one so grand that I fear it wouldn't fit into the pages of this or any book ever bound by a man. _

_And what a joyous ending it has been! It came in the darkest moments of my anguish, shattering my reality and awakening me into the world which has always been in my dreams. How abrupt, how unforeseen, how wondrous the ways of fate have been to me! For I, Oren Glaedrson, have found myself the receiver of the first thing I ever wanted yet the last thing I ever expected: I have been bound to a dragon!_

Oren paused for a moment, his eyes becoming strangely fascinated with the hand with which he wrote. A very odd feeling washed over him, an out-of-body experience of sorts; even though he wiggled his fingers and flexed his wrist by his own free will, it seemed for a second that his hand did not belong to him, but to some mysterious, nameless entity which he could only watch from afar. He had to sit and think for a moment about whether or not he was still Oren Glaedrson, whether he actually believed the words he had just written down, and whether it wasn't just part of an elaborate dream from which he would soon awaken. It was something that had been happening to him a lot lately.

He continued writing when he felt that his mind was safely rooted back into reality.

_By the gods, the six-year story told within the pages of this and my previous two books had a meaning to it after all! What is the meaning? I cannot begin to comprehend it! But the longings and lamentations described herein have compelled me to chase after Saphira's eggs at the first news of them, and in doing so, I was brought together with the dragon who yearned to hatch for a person just like me. I cannot fathom why he chose me, but I do not care; I'm just happy, so happy! Where I used to lay awake for countless hours imagining my wish coming true, I am now kept awake just by my pounding heart which has still yet to be convinced this is all a reality and not something intended for another person._

_His name is not Xandar, although that's what I wanted to name him at first. My dragon's name is Scythe, a name he chose for himself one day after all my ideas had been exhausted and rejected. While it surprised me, it is a name I am proud to call him; it is the humble symbol of a hardworking man, but it is a deadly and unexpected weapon in a time of need. His scales are black, the purest black you could ever imagine. They shine brightly in the light like polished obsidian, but seem to become invisible when he chooses to prowl in the darkness. His eyes are the color of blood, piercing and frightening; they sometimes glow with a strange energy when his power is greatest. _

_In the small time he has lived since hatching, he has grown from the size of my foot to greater than that of a mountain lion! He grows in spurts, not gradually; every time I get used to his size, it doubles over the course of just a few days! Luckily, his next growth is taking a very long time. This is good because of where we are keeping him: inside my father's forge. He spends most of his time in there to stay hidden from the other villagers. If he grows any more, I really don't know what we'll do with him. My father wants to reveal him to all of Rassan-Kaya, and I want to as well, but I'm still scared of the thought._

_Scythe grows quickly in size, but even more quickly in intelligence. I knew that dragons were wise creatures, but even at the age of one month? He knows almost all of my vocabulary, he can understand my thoughts and feelings, and he knows how to comfort me when I'm feeling bad. His personality is fiery, unique, and proud. He sees the world in a very new and different way than anyone I've met, and I can easily spend hours in deep discussion with him. His respect for me is bottomless; he seems to have pledged himself to me with every fiber in his body, even to the point where it pains me! He insists on talking to me and only me, making me relay his messages to my father and my uncle. He also insists on calling me "Rider" probably out of some meaningless reverence. I must get him to stop that sometime soon. He also intends to surpass the greatness of Xandar, which is why he refused to take the name._

_I can feel our bond growing with every passing day. It is something indescribable, something completely surreal; I can feel part of myself melding into him, and him into me. It's complicated, and there is no other way to explain it. But it's there, and it's growing more powerful, and to be honest, it scares me a little bit. We can share our feelings and the pictures in the mind's eye freely with each other, and even convey basic understanding when no words will suffice. His thoughts and mine even get exchanged sometimes without meaning to be. I can feel his presence with my mind as long as he's nearby. It used to feel like a little snake that would try to choke me, but now it feels more like a cloud, a glowing aura in my mind that completely engulfs my consciousness. Even now, I can feel that place in my head where we hold hands. I can feel his peaceful weariness as he sleeps, how the sound of the raindrops on the roof of the forge hypnotize him and pin him down into his dreams. Whatever I do, it seems, I'm no longer alone. I'm attached to Scythe with a bond that is profound and frightening, but at the same time, wonderful._

_Unfortunately, taking care of the dragon in this household has been nothing but a hardship for me. My father respects him well enough, but my Uncle does not. I might even say that Uncle is the best candidate to be the first person eaten by Scythe. He resents the fact that father and I didn't come back from our trip until two weeks later than we should have, so now our work is so set back that we might have to postpone a few of our commissions for next season. Although Scythe insists that the delay was all his fault for choosing to hatch for me, he's forbidden to be sorry about it. But still, though Scythe may take the blame, I take the responsibility. Scythe can't help us with our craft, only I can do that. These last days we've spent rushing to meet the deadline have been long, so very long, and so very strenuous! Uncle's frustration and fury have been working us hard and driving our endurance into the ground. I think Scythe's constant company in the forge is the only reason I haven't died by it._

_Uncle also resents Scythe because he sees him as a lazy beast who lays around all day and gives us an excuse to be distracted from our work. He even accused me once of absorbing his laziness through our mental link! Scythe decided he needed to start hunting for his own food at night when Uncle yelled at him for wasting our hard-earned resources and putting us in danger of starving over the winter. His anger is righteous, I can understand it; he knows that a few good intentions and even a dragon can't save us from the fury of the winter season. Only money, supplies, and food can do that. I can only hope that Uncle is appeased when winter is here and we've come out victorious in our struggle. If we can't, I can't imagine what he will say or do. I fear I might need Scythe for protection!_

_Father does his best to respect Scythe, but he's still more distant than I would like. I gave my father a solemn promise when we set out for Qin that my dragon would be friends with him. It's a harder promise to keep than I thought it would be, especially since Scythe still refuses to talk to anyone but me. I think that father is afraid of him just because of his appearance as a deadly predator, and I want to change that. I want father to see Scythe for who he really is: a noble, intelligent, and faithful creature who respects him just as much as I do._

_What does the future hold? That is for Scythe and I to decide. Our responsibility as Rider and dragon is toward a better future for anyone we can help. Are we really to live forever? If that is true, then it's not enough to say that the future will hold "anything", rather, it will hold everything!_

_But in the immediate future, Eragon and Arya will return astride Saphira and Blade at this time next year to begin teaching me all the intimate secrets of being a Rider. Although I hold my breath for that day, I heed Blade's advice to savor my young days with Scythe before we both get trapped in a world where up is down and duty is a higher priority than fun. Scythe will be massive when that day comes! I can barely imagine him standing over me with the stature of Saphira or Blade, soaring through the air on wings so great they block out the sun, or even breathing fire. "Someday, Rider," he reassures me every time he catches me thinking about it._

_I can tell already that the life of a Rider is a very difficult one. My life has been full of pain ever since reading that book so many years ago, and today it still continues to be full of pain as I suffer the consequences of having this dragon with me. But it's a joyful pain, not like the kind Xandar caused me. It's a pain which I look forward to each day I rise. It's a pain that I'm happy to cope with. It's a pain that I don't want to end, and I know that it never will. _

_Tonight, I give my final farewell to the memory of Xandar, the imaginary dragon which has occupied my heart for all my childhood years. There is no room in me for him anymore. Scythe, the living, breathing dragon, the great gift which fate has bestowed on me, is the rightful owner of that room. I give my goodbye to my Xandar with disinterest and give him no second thought, knowing that the heartbreak and suffering he represented with soon be overshadowed by the __real__ friendship which grows with every passing moment. May he rest in peace, the peace which comes from being utterly forgotten about._

_Here ends the story of Oren, the Rider with an imaginary dragon. May it live on only in the pages of these books._

Oren put down his pen and grabbed his hand to try to ease the burning cramps which were flaring up in his writing muscles. He sighed deeply as he looked at all he had just written, hoping never to have to write anything like it ever again.

He closed the book, taking one last look at the brown cover which bound it. He set the book aside, snuffed the candles, gently gave a mental gesture to Scythe, and climbed into his bed.

And he waited.

He waited a long time, occupying himself with exciting thoughts of flying or whatever else that came to mind. This time, you see, he was not staying awake because of his restless heart. He was doing it by his own free will, needing to have a question answered which was bothering him for weeks. He struggled to keep himself awake, denying his urge to join Scythe in that peaceful trance of sleep.

After two whole hours, his father approached the door to his room.

"Oren?" he asked quietly, just as he always would when he'd visit him at night.

This time, though, Oren did not answer his father. Oren shut his eyes and pretended to be completely unconscious.

He waited in silence as he heard his father enter his room, seeing the void of darkness behind his eyelids light up with the candle he carried. His silent footsteps tracing across the floor, he walked up to Oren and stood over him for a minute. After muttering something, he carefully bent down and reached a hand underneath the bed.

"It's not there tonight, father," Oren said suddenly.

Glaedr jerked back and dropped his candle. It went out just before it hit the floor, and the resounding clang was the only noise for a long time.

Motionless and silent, Glaedr and Oren stared at each other through the total darkness of the room, the black void completely shielding each other from seeing or being seen. Glaedr was at a loss for words, but stayed still and refused to retreat from the room. Oren only wondered how he would respond.

At last, Glaedr's voice broke the tense silence.

"Oren?"

"Yes, father?"

"Are you angry at me now?"

Oren didn't expect that exact response. He sighed, imagining his father's uneasiness.

"Not at all," Oren replied.

Oren felt his father's hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure?" he asked gently, his voice full of remorse. "You have every right to be."

"No, I'm not," Oren said. " My shock was when I first realized… but it went away, and I realized that I should be thanking you for it. You're being a good father."

"When did you know?" his father asked, finding it ironic that he was now on the reverse side of a conversation he had previously cherished with his son.

"I didn't," Oren said. "Scythe realized it when I started showing him my memories. 'You mutter it in your sleep,' you said. I believed you, but Scythe found it suspicious. He told me I should stay awake at night if I wanted to know for sure."

"I guess I've underestimated you and Scythe," Glaedr said gravely. "I'll have to take care the next time I want to cross a Rider and his dragon. Can you forgive me, my son?"

"No," Oren said. "There's nothing to forgive. Scythe and I are together because of you and the things you've done for me. I'm the one who still owes you so much."

"If you love me, then forgive me," Glaedr said. "It might mean nothing to you, but it means everything to me. If you don't, I may never be able to sleep at night again, even if you don't disagree with what I did. It was wrong of me to do."

"Alright," Oren said. "I forgive you, but only because you asked."

"Thank you," he said, embracing his son.

Glaedr grabbed the candle and got up quickly, wanting to leave his son to his sleep. But before he could leave the room, Oren spoke up again.

"Look on the desk."

"Why?" Glader asked, turning back to him although he couldn't see an inch in front of his face.

"The book. That's what you came for, right?"

Glaedr carefully walked over to Oren's desk and felt around the surface. His fingers bumped into the think, hard-bound book which was Oren's journal.

"Are you sure?" Glaedr asked.

"It's yours," Oren said. "I'm finished with it. I have nothing else to write in there."

"Did you write anything new in here?" Glaedr asked, taking the book and feeling the pages with his fingers. "You haven't written anything at all since we've returned."

"Yes, I did," Oren said, still feeling his hand throbbing a bit.

With that, Glaedr thanked his son and left the room with the book. He lit another candle when he returned to his own room and looked over it, running his hand over the blank, wrinkled binding and feeling its weight. It was practically his son's life's work. He never would have expected such a gift from his son in all his life, and knew he would treasure it for as long as he lived.

He opened the front cover of the book. There, on the front page which had previously always been left blank, there was a title. _The Life and Death of Xandar_, it read. Scribbled beneath it was a little passage which read "_Dedicated to the remarkable gifts of fate and the father who helped me to reach them._"

He closed the book again, not able to read any farther. His vision was becoming too blurry. A tear fell onto the hard-bound cover.

* * *

_Rider! Wake up!_

Oren's eyes blinked open as the telepathic claw grabbed him and pulled him from his dreams. He could hear it still raining outside, making it even harder to come to his senses.

_I'm up, Scythe,_ he answered as he tried to gather the will to get out of bed. _How are you this morning?_

_Come to the forge as quickly as you can!_ Scythe cried. _If you don't, your uncle might drag you here by force!_

Then it dawned on him. This was the last day before the winter trading post, and they were barely even done with half their work! He quickly got dressed, wondering how he had been so foolish to stay awake so late the previous night. He scrambled out the door, completely ignoring any thought of breakfast. He hurried to the forge house, splashing through the mud puddles without care and trying to bear the huge icy drops of water that were continually hitting him in the face and soaking his clothes.

When he stepped foot in the door, he was greeted by a blast of hellishly hot air filled with the familiar stench of smoke and melted metal. His father and uncle were busy, working harder and longer than he'd ever witnessed. Taking a moment to prepare himself, he jumped in to help.

"Well, 'ello, there!" said Ulan very sarcastically. "And to think I woulda' had ya' by the ear just as soon as I got done with this one!"

"He probably knows," Glaedr said, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel. "Scythe's watching out for him. Now c'mon over here, Oren. Good to see you. Let's give it one last day's work, okay?"

Oren glanced into the adjacent room as he went, and his eyes met with Scythe's. Scythe sat with an anxious look on his face, as if he was helping to bear the tension of the rest of his family while he could not do anything to help.

_Scythe, lend me your endurance,_ Oren said silently to him. _This is not going to be pleasant._

_I have little endurance to lend to you, Rider,_ Scythe responded with a nod, _but what I have is yours._

Oren felt a sort of jagged warmth well up in his chest, chasing away some of his fear and discomfort of the hard work which was ahead of him. Sending a grateful thought to Scythe, He picked up his mallet and asked his father where he could begin.

Oren couldn't even remember everything that happened for the next three hours or so. Orders were barked, metal scraps were dropped onto the floor or shoved onto the cooling table, and the heat pounded against his skin. Oren burned himself twice that day, but bore the pain because he didn't dare ask his farther or uncle to let him leave. He felt his sore muscles tiring out, his hunger and thirst growing unfathomable, and his mind dying from all the stress, but he just kept going.

Suddenly, after four or five hours, Glaedr threw his hammer to the ground and shoved the red-hot scrap of metal on his anvil across the room. It threw some sparks as it clanged against the far wall.

"Stop," Glaedr demanded.

Oren and Ulan obeyed. They turned to him.

"We're done," Glaedr said with a tone of burning indignity. "Put it all away, we're done here."

"How's that?" cried Ulan. "When else will we push it off until, huh?"

"We're done for the _year_," Glaedr said. "We sell what we have now, but no more. There's no use beating a dead horse."

"Dead horse?!" Ulan repeated loudly. "We can't give in yet, we've got a good sixteen hours left ahead of us!"

"_HOW CAN I DESERVE TO BE CALLED A SMITH _if I can't _do my work_?" he suddenly shouted, catching both of them off-guard. "I can't call this work, I _can't_! I'm not a smith because I do my work or I do it quickly, I'm a smith because I do my work _well_, and I don't sell my dependents rushed, half-finished scraps of steel they could just as easily make on their own just so I can say I finished a commission on time!"

There was silence as Glaedr seethed, staring loathingly at the table of tools they had spent all day completing.

"Fair enough," Ulan said with a calm voice, "but what do we do for the winter?"

"We do what we can with what we have," he said grimly as he walked across the room toward the door. "For the rest, we grit our teeth and bear it."

He slammed the door on his way out.

Ulan and Oren stared at each other for a few moments, barely believing what they'd just seen. Ulan put his tools down on the floor.

"Well, you heard your father," he said as he closed the vent on one of the furnace to suffocate the fire. "let's put it away."

They spent the next hour closing down the entire forge, cleaning it up for the following months when it would not be in use. A dark cloud of despair hung over their heads. They had been defeated. They had failed. Failure was not something they were used to. Glaedr had always been a dependable man with his work. Never in the history of their lives had he been so far from completing his tasks.

Finally, when all the dust and metal crumbs had been swept out the door and the last of the scrap heaps had been stored away, Oren and his uncle looked at the empty workshop with heavy hearts.

"Go," Ulan spat. "Go be with your dragon."

He also slammed the door on his way out, but not as loudly.

Oren turned his thoughts to his link with Scythe and immediately found himself flooded with the warmth of his sympathy.

_I couldn't reach you,_ Scythe said. _You were keeping me out somehow._

Oren trudged into the other room and sat by Scythe, who curled himself around him and laid his head in his lap.

"Scythe, why did you choose me?" Oren asked suddenly. "You didn't hatch for centuries! Why now? Why me, out of everyone else?"

_Because you wanted me to hatch for you, _Scythe replied simply, _and I wanted to make you happy._

Oren glanced at him strangely, surprised at his reply. "You hatched only to make me happy? I did not – I was under the impression that you were not allowed to just hatch on a whim! I thought that fate needed to dictate such a thing…"

_Let me tell you something,_ Scythe said. _I have very clear memories of the inside of the egg. The eggshell was like an iron barrier, so very hard, and having so many layers. I tried to hatch before with other souls, many other souls… Each time I felt a strong-hearted soul looming above, one that I felt needed my help, I attempted to hatch for them. But, struggle though I may, I could not even tilt the egg. I felt powerless and trapped, thinking that I had been born a soul inside some state of eternal punishment. But then, you came! When you first approached me, I felt how you were different. You were the first soul who desired my companionship above all else. Your heart called to me. In answering the call, I was motivated to use a greater force of strength than I had used in any of my previous attempts to hatch. It was a strength which no other soul had ever given me. When I felt the egg give, I knew it was because of you. Call it fate if you wish; you were made for me, my Rider, and I for you._

Some strange, hazy feelings came from Scythe's mind as he transmitted his memories of being inside the egg. There was no vision, only feeling and vibration, and an overpowering despair of being trapped and alone. Then, for the first time, there came a powerful spark as he sensed Oren's presence for the first time. Something clicked, and he felt the most uncontrollable urge to _escape_ and to jump into Oren's arms. He forced his entire body stiff against the end of the egg, just as he did many times in the past, but the urge was so great that he no longer cared about his own pain. He pushed and pushed and pushed, never relenting, always finding another tiny fiber of strength he didn't even realize he had. His entire universe seemed to shatter when the inner shell of the egg broke, releasing his tension and letting him feel the awesome cold of the outside world for the first time.

_Are you satisfied?_ Scythe asked as the images faded away.

"With you, yes!" Oren said in awe as he hugged Scythe's neck tightly. "But no, with my life the way it is, I'm not satisfied. Now that you're here… and we're very behind in our work… it's going to be such a long winter, Scythe. Unless we can sell our wares for double the price, which would never work, we'll be short on food this summer, among other things… It's going to be cold, and painful… and shameful."

_It's nothing you can't handle, Rider,_ he said. _You are strong enough._

"But Uncle probably hates you even more now," Oren sighed. "He'll just pin all our suffering on you!"

_That doesn't bother me,_ Scythe said, _nor should it bother you, Rider. If he hates me, it's his choice alone. Your uncle's displeasure can't change the past, and neither can you._

They sat there for a good half hour, exchanging nothing but meaningless thoughts and feelings for comfort. But then, Scythe climbed to his feet began to amble towards the door.

_Rider, come,_ Scythe said. _I want to walk with you._

"Now?" Oren asked. "It's only the middle of the afternoon! People could see us! That, and it's still raining!"

_Yes, so who will be outdoors to see us? Come._

Very warily, Oren followed Scythe out of the forge. The rain was still coming down in waves, so naturally there was nobody outside to notice as they quickly made their way around back and into the forest beyond Rassan-Kaya. The layer of leaves above them helped to filter the falling rain into something much more bearable.

_It is time for me to leave, Rider,_ Scythe said as they walked.

"Leave?" Oren repeated. "What do you mean, leave?! For where?"

_The mountains,_ Scythe said. _I am doing a disservice to you, my Rider, for staying here. I am weak. I am slow. My mind is dull and ignorant. My muscles are sluggish and thin. My claws are flat. I know not what it means to be a predator or a guardian. I could not even protect myself in a time of need, much less you. _

"Yes, but that will all change when Eragon returns to train us!" Oren insisted. "You can't just abandon us for the winter! I want you by my side!"

_And I want to build myself into a suitable servant and companion to you, my Rider! I yearn to live on my own in those mountains and to be tempered by the hammer of nature into a suitable weapon, just like the steel becomes a sword under the hammer of the blacksmith. I cannot lay idly in wait until they return for us. My mother and father would be deeply ashamed of me, and so would you. Also, I am causing your uncle distress, so it would do you good for me to leave._

Although he so desperately wanted to, Oren couldn't argue with his words. He recalled the words of Arya, that the dragon knows what's best for itself. He knew he couldn't refuse Scythe's desire, although he feared the separation would be unbearable.

"Fine, go, then," Oren said, disheartened. "But on two conditions. One, you must visit me. Very often. At least once every fourteen days. Arya told me that you know what's best, but she also told me to protect you, so you must show me you are still safe on a regular basis. Understand?"

_So be it,_ Scythe said.

"The other condition is that you must start calling me by my name, Oren!" he said authoritatively. "That's an order! Tell me, why do you still refuse to call me by my name? Is it out of respect? Look at your mother, her first word to her Rider was his name! Why not you?"

_Because,_ he responded, _I am not yet fit to be your friend. Look at how inferior I am, even to you! But that will change, if only you'd let me go. Please, release me now, so that I can go out and return to you as a dragon fit for a Rider._

All at once, the heartbroken feeling started pouring into Oren's head. His closest companion, the greatest treasure of his life, was about to leave him. Scythe stood onto his hind legs and put his head onto Oren's shoulder. Although the barriers were starting to form around his mind, Scythe struggled to let him know and feel that it wasn't an abandonment at all, that he just wanted to grow even closer to him.

"Go," Oren finally grunted, trying to hold back his tears.

So he went. Not being able to fly, Scythe crept across the forest floor on foot, wandering towards the mighty Mountains of No Passage which loomed in the distance.

_Someday, Rider_, Scythe said as the last of his consciousness was slipping out of reach. _Someday…_


	7. A Separation

**-7-**

**A Separation**

_The beginning of a long, difficult winter._

…

Emptiness throbbed within Oren's heart.

Ever since Scythe learned the difference between day and night, he had always been there to wake Oren each morning without fail. It started as an intrusive trampling over his body the way a playful dog pounces upon his master, then became a gentle nuzzle to his face, then a telepathic beckoning as the dragon grew older. It was something that always started Oren's day with joy, reminding him of the the life he now had and the future that was ahead of him.

But that following morning, when Oren's eyes snapped open as if by trained routine, he became saddened as he realized Scythe wasn't there to welcome him into the new day. Instead of joy, his day started with a grim reminder that he was, once again, a Rider without a dragon.

The temperature through the night had dropped low enough to freeze all the rain into a layer of ice which covered the roads, making it all the more difficult to endure the journey to Rohall City for the trading post. Oren, Glaedr, and Ulan all knew as they followed the caravan from Rassan-Kaya into the city that the unforgiving snowstorms of winter would not be far behind. A solemn silence hung over the three men.

"How are you doing, Oren?" Glaedr asked gently as they trudged down the road.

"I'll be fine," he said. "I didn't get much rest last night. I kept having dreams about Scythe curled up under some rock and shivering to death."

"Well, if it's any comfort, reptiles don't shiver," Ulan said curtly.

Oren closed his eyes and tried to stretch out his consciousness as far as it could go, hoping at least brush up against Scythe. But it was for nothing – Scythe was many leagues away, too far to touch with telepathy. Still, he kept himself withdrawn for a few moments, hoping that he could catch just a tiny glimpse of his friend's mind should he get close enough.

But just then, a terror washed over Oren. Like looking closely at the black dots on a log and realizing they're actually are ants or spiders, Oren realized that the little shimmering specks he saw throughout the dark void in which his consciousness roamed were _other people!_ He could see little sparks of sentience dotted all around him, all shifting and changing with their own thoughts and feelings. Although their meanings were much harder to discern than Scythe's ever was, there they were, clear as the stars in the night sky.

_I can read minds!_ Oren realized. _That's unbelievable! That's impossible! How does it work? Should I try it? Would other people know I'm looking at them? Would it offend my honor to do such a thing? By the gods, what am I turning into? _

He jerked himself back into his own mind, emitting a gasp and opening his eyes. Both Glaedr and Ulan turned to him.

"You alright?" His father asked. "Your face glazed over for a moment."

"I really don't know, father," Oren replied, still trying to swallow the new revelation. "I don't think I ever will, either."

"Now don't start killing yourself over Scythe like you did with Xandar," his father said firmly. "That part of your life is supposed to be over with, you understand? Scythe will be back for you. He wouldn't have left if it wasn't the best thing for both of you."

Oren thought about replying, but he dropped it. His head was too busy spinning with questions. _Mind-reading! __Is this just one of the parts of being a Rider?_ he asked himself. _Could Eragon and Arya do this to me? But wait, they did! Eragon had scanned my mind! He could open my mind like a book and read all my thoughts! Is this some kind of magic? Am I strong enough to use it, or must it further develop? Is it ethical to use on anyone I meet? This is something I must discuss with Scythe! He could give me some insight on this, I'm sure of it!_

Oren found himself overcome with the strange urge to peer into other peoples' minds, but he stopped himself. Something in his heart held him back, warning him of dishonor. He resolved that he would learn what Eragon had to teach him before trying to use his dormant powers by mere whims. Still, he looked intently at his uncle who rode on the opposite side of the cart. He was so sure his uncle was gravely upset at him for obtaining Scythe, even though he hadn't been showing much of his anger lately. He wondered if he could gain a deeper understanding and respect of him by reading his mind, much like his father did by reading his journal.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. It surprised him how the words managed to escape his lips so easily.

"What?" grunted Ulan. "What did ya' do now?"

"I'm sorry, Uncle," he repeated, "for causing all this trouble."

"Eh, it's not your fault," he replied.

"If you want to call it a fault, then no," Oren said, "it wasn't my fault. But it was caused because of me, and I acknowledge that. I have nothing better to do than to apologize for it and the trouble it has caused."

"Next year will be better," Glaedr said simply, cutting off the start of Ulan's reply.

The majority of the day was spent on the road, and the following days were spent in the city selling their wares and buying whatever supplies they could for the upcoming deep freeze of winter. Glaedr tried to inflate his prices just a little, but the little extra money didn't go too far. Overall, the mood of the trip was very somber. What was normally a happy and exciting time of year, a time of frivolous spending and extravagant splurging, didn't seem as cheerful as it should have been. The high point of the trip, though, was the meeting with Sir Andov.

Sir Andov was Glaedr's business partner in selling commissions to foreign cities. Glaedr had always visited him on business during the trading posts, but this was the first year Oren traveled with him to his house. Sir Andov was gravely disappointed when he heard that Glaedr hadn't completed his work, but he cheered up – a little more than just slightly – when he was told why.

"That's impossible," Andov said. "I don't believe it for one minute. Oren, son of Glaedr Swordsforge, a Rider? That's incredible news. Absolutely incredible! So it was _you_ all along whom the black egg hatched for? Nonsense! Your hand. Show me your hand!"

"It's true," Oren said as he displayed his gedwëy ignasia to the old man. "I met Saphira on the same night you sent us out for Qin, just as you promised. The egg hatched that very night."

Sir Andov grasped Oren's wrist, clenching it tightly with a shaking hand as he held it up and examined the silver palm. Sure enough, it bore a resemblance to the same marking made famous by Eragon and Arya.

"Incredible," he whispered. "All my life, I've made it my business to follow the old legends, especially of Eragon and the dragons… I've read his book ten times over, for enjoyment, really… But this? After what, two centuries, it's finally happened? Oren, when you told me you were interested in seeing the Riders of Alagaësia, you never mentioned that you had plans to _become_ one!"

To his surprise, Sir Andov knelt down before him, like a knight before his king.

"Rider," he said reverently. "And to think I helped it happen. Incredible, how my interest in world history has been for a cause. I would have never in my life thought it would be for a cause such as this. By the gods, Rider, I'm honored."

"Enough of calling me that," Oren said with a nervous laugh. "My dragon does enough of that. I can't even get him to call me by my name."

"Your dragon!" Andov gasped, getting back up. "Is it well? Where is it now?"

"His name is Scythe," Oren said. "He's left me for the wild so that he can grow stronger. I don't know when he's coming back."

"Keep the horses," Andov suddenly declared. "They're yours. I can get more. If they've served you like this, they deserve to be yours. That is, if you'll even be having use of a horse shortly. Dragons grow so quickly, you know! Eragon mentioned once that he could ride Saphira in just two months. To think you'll never want to touch a horse again after you've flown. But to repay me, you must promise me one thing. You must let me meet your Scythe face-to-face someday before I die. Understand?"

"Of course," Oren said.

Andov then turned to Glaedr. "So this is why your work has been held back," he said. "You've all been raising a dragon! Incredible! You need extra money for the winter? I can help."

"We can't take your money!" Glaedr protested. "That wouldn't be right! We haven't even given you enough to sell, so we've already shorted your household of its resources enough for one year!"

"For one year, yes," Andov said. "But you've been working for me for twenty-seven years, Swordsforge, and not once have you allowed me to express my thanks. True, I can't give you much under these circumstances, but I can help a little. Also, you would have to promise me to double your efforts for the next season for the sake of my own reputation."

"No," Glaedr said, shaking his head. "I'm a man of my honor. I refuse to take advantage of you this way. We will make it through the winter on our own. Besides, it was my own fault that our production was as behind as it was even before the dragon. I'm not going to make you pay for my own laziness. I can't do that."

"Fine," Andov said curtly. "In that case, I refuse to impede upon your honor, Swordsforge, even if it means you must impede on _mine_ by not letting me properly serve this Rider. My prayers will be with you this winter, but you can bet your life that I'll still have my way with you when the time comes."

Sir Andov then turned to look Oren right in the eyes. It scared him, because he thought he involuntarily caught a glimpse of the old man's consciousness as their gazes met.

"Your father is a good man," he said deeply. "You would do well to take his wisdom with you and remember it one day when you're soaring through the sky and holding the balance of the fates in your hands, Oren Shur'tugal."

Glaedr took his son and left Sir Andov's residence without accepting his help.

And that was that.

After five days, they left Rohall with a cart of as many supplies as they could afford.

* * *

Winter wasted no time in turning unpleasant for the young Rider. Not even the stone walls of his house or the stuffed comforters he wrapped around his body would keep the ruthless cold from entering and continually stabbing him in the face and the feet. On top of that, he spent his days and nights with a discomfort, a _restlessness,_ knowing that his dragon was somewhere without the conveniences of clothes to keep him warm or a house to sleep in. His yearning to see Scythe again only grew worse as the days went by.

On the fourteenth day since Scythe's departure, Oren stayed home instead of meeting with his friends as he usually did. He alternated between nervously pacing around the house and sitting on a stump out in the back yard and simply staring out into the forest. For a good portion of the day, a single, nonstop thought cycled through his head:

_Will he come? Will he remember?_

Trying to find ways to distract himself, he wandered over to the forge house. When he arrived, he was very surprised to find that the front doors were swung open and the icy mud at the entrance was littered with footsteps.

_The forge is active?_ Oren thought to himself. _At this time of the year? During the winter break?_

Oren entered the forge and found all three of the fires in the furnaces burning away, the tools haphazardly scattered around the workbenches from recent use, and the floor stained with water and mud. He glanced around the room, but there was not a sign of his father or his uncle.

He approached the worktable, and found it littered with many things he had never seen before. There was a cluster of very oddly-shaped tools, some resembling knives or miniature hammers, others resembling metal molds for shapes which he did not recognize. His eyes drifted to a particular tool which was sitting near the end of the surface: a tiny pair of tongs which looked suitable enough to handle a kernel of corn. Its metal surface was lined with an orange-gold coating. He picked it up and tested it out with his fingers, noticing its strange resistance and the way it sparkled in the light of the fire.

_These must be the new tools that Father bought from the trading post,_ Oren thought to himself. _They're very strange. I have no idea how they work or what their purposes are. I probably shouldn't even be touching them like this. I wonder if Father is going to teach me to handle these next season? Maybe he's even trying to replicate them?_

Suddenly, recalling his obligation to stare into the forest and whimsically hope for his dragon's return, he set the tongs down, careful to leave them exactly the way he found them, and walked toward the front door. But as he exited the building, he nearly ran head-on into his father.

"Oren!" his father yelped in surprise, trying to regain his balance.

"Father!" he yelped back, noticing his gloves and his charred clothing. "You're using the forge in the middle of winter?"

"Why can't I?" Glaedr replied almost nervously as he pushed past Oren. "It's my forge, isn't it? Now go away. Build me another pile of wood if you have nothing to do."

Oren turned to look at his father suspiciously, but his father quickly shut the doors in his face.

* * *

That night, the first major snowstorm of the year hit Rassan-Kaya. It wasn't very destructive – _those _storms would be coming later – but it was enough to keep Oren as far under his covers as he could manage. A forceful wind whistled around the building, often hitting just the right pitches to keep Oren from falling into his world of dreams.

Oren was heartbroken that Scythe hadn't returned as promised. He decided not to think or worry about it, convincing himself that everything would be all right. _Maybe he forgot,_ he told himself as he tossed and turned. _Maybe he will just return tomorrow. How badly I want to see him… and to think he's somewhere out there in the storm…_

As the wind was escalating to a mighty gale and singing like a roused choir of ghosts around Oren's room, a faint whisper came to him. It was soft and piercing, like a single current of the wind which stood out among the others, but it was so faint that it might not have existed.

_Rider,_ it said. _I am here._

_**Scythe!**_ Oren called. _I've missed you so badly! I waited for you so long. Are you surviving this weather?_

_I am doing well,_ said the faint telepathic voice. _Do not worry about me._

And with that, it was gone again.

_Scythe!_ Oren called out again. _Scythe! Come back! I want to speak with you!_

But there was no answer. The sound of the wind and the gentle thumping of sleet on the roof was all that remained.

* * *

The winter hit harder with every passing day. There were three storms in the course of the next week, each dropping layers of snow onto the little town. It was impossible to get anywhere without being armed with a shovel, or at the worst of times, a pickaxe.

Early one morning, Oren and his uncle sat next to the fireplace. Oren chewed on a lump of bread as his breakfast.

Both heads turned as Glaedr stormed out the front door, slamming it behind him. He apparently had no problem with trudging to the forge through the snow every day.

"Your father's up to something," Ulan said. "Don't ask me what, though. He won't let me near him."

Oren swallowed his bite. "He's doing work in the forge," he said. "I saw him yesterday, but I couldn't tell what he was doing."

"Maybe you should read his mind," grunted Ulan.

Oren paused in mid-bite and retracted the bread from his mouth. "Read his mind?" Oren repeated. "What do you mean?"

"That's what Riders do," Ulan said. "They always know ahead of time what you're going to say, so they never need to ask you any questions. Heck, Eragon did it to me once. I assume you'll be able to do that too someday, that is, if you can't already do it."

"I… think I might be able to do it," Oren confessed. "But I don't know, I'm hesitant to try. It doesn't seem honorable."

"Heck," Ulan said plainly, "I'd say, if you've got the power, use it."

"My mind is like a sanctuary to me," Oren said thoughtfully. "I don't know if I would want somebody intruding in on my innermost thoughts and all… I would feel uncomfortable not respecting other peoples' privacy."

"Hah, and this is comin' from you?" Ulan laughed. "Don't you already have someone intrudin' into your innermost thoughts on a regular basis? Besides, I'd say, if you read my mind and came across something that made you uncomfortable, heh, that's no fault but your own."

Oren looked at him, wondering if his Uncle was being sarcastic or serious. He took another bite of his bread to ease his nerves and turned to look him straight in the eye, wondering just what kind of things lay behind them.

"Would you mind?" Oren asked curiously. "Could I read your thoughts? Could I try it?"

"I don't see why not," Ulan said. "Have at it. If you figure it out, you go and do it on your father, alright? I'd like to know myself what's gotten into that man."

Barely believing his words, Oren set his bread down and closed his eyes. He extended his mind in the same way he would reach out to Scythe, something he hadn't done for many days. He found the aura of energy which represented his Uncle and carefully tried to latch onto it.

"Well, do you see anything?" asked his uncle.

Oren's eyes blinked open. "I see… a cow?"

"A cow," Ulan laughed. "Is that it?"

"Yes, that's it," Oren said in a confused tone. "I found your mind, but it seems like there's a large cow sitting in front of everything, and I can't see past it. Also, you're laughing at me."

"Am I, now?" he chuckled. "I guess my mind's not all that complex after all, is it? What color was the cow?"

"Blue… and white?"

"Hah, and I thought for sure I had it green and red," Ulan said. "Yes, Oren, I'm afraid that your mind-reading is nigh useless."

"I guess I don't know how to use it yet," Oren sighed. "I thought, perhaps, it was simple. I'll just ask Eragon when he comes back…"

"I'm just joking with ya'," Ulan said, chuckling. "Even _I_ know how mind reading works. I once had a friend who knew a wizard, and he told me that all the novice telepaths can't see past the surface, so if you focus on something intently, that's all they'll see. Of course, some people can only focus on one thing at a time, like myself, so you just can't get in either way."

"That makes sense," Oren said thoughtfully. "But wouldn't that mean it would be useless on Father? He looks like he's focused on… something."

Oren stretched out his mind once again, this time ignoring the pulsating consciousness of his uncle and extending out to find his father. He noticed many other auras along the way, likely from inside the neighboring houses. Some were cold, others were growing weary from the tedious task of throwing salt on all the town's pathways. He eventually came across one that emanated determination and nervousness, and he knew it was his father. What he saw was a little surprising to him.

"I found him," Oren told his uncle. "This is… difficult, like trying to read a book from the other side of the street. But… he's there, and he's… rather anxious. He might have a nervous breakdown, even. He's doing something… he has a very important job to do, and he wants to do it perfectly, and he's afraid that he'll make a mistake with it. He… doesn't want anyone else to know about it."

"So, what is it?" Ulan asked eagerly.

"I don't know," Oren said, trying to examine his father any further, "he has that part blocked. And… I think I'm going to stop trying to find out. He wants to keep it unknown, so I think I'll respect that…"

"A wise choice, I guess," Ulan said. "Probably what I would have done in your shoes. Then again, maybe I wouldn't be able to resist. I don't know, it's probably a good thing I'm not a Rider. Don't think I would have made it two steps before screwing it all up…"

Just then, before Oren had returned from his mental excursion, something caught his attention.

Oren's eyes snapped open instantly. He leapt up and bolted toward the door, grabbing his coat on the way out.

"What's the matter now?" called Ulan.

He didn't answer. He reached for the snow boots, but found that they were missing – his father was using them. He shook his head, then dove out into the snowy winter morning.

"Oren? Is something wrong?" Ulan asked, getting up to follow him.

Oren tried to waste no time in marching through the knee-deep snowdrifts that covered the outside world, straining his eyes to make sense of the blaring white vision which assaulted him as the sun reflected off the its surface. The wind was already trying to give him frostbite, and snow was starting to get in his shoes and underneath his clothes, but he didn't care. He felt _something_ out there. As his mind was returning from scanning his father, he noticed another person not too far away. This person emanated very different emotions than anyone else around: a loneliness, combined with a powerful sadness and despair, as if their entire life had just fallen out from under their feet. All the other emotions were completely blocked from his observation, so Oren didn't have the slightest idea who was in such distress or where they were. Nevertheless, he felt obliged to intercede – the pain was just too great. If there was a way for him to help, he was going to find it.

He trudged around in the snow, trying to feel where the signal faded and where it got stronger. As he tracked it more closely, it became unmistakable that it was a person he knew very well. It made him hurry forward even faster.

At last, he found the source of the thoughts. It was a log cabin down the road, one that he had visited plenty of times over the course of his life. It belonged to the Maynors, the carpenters of the little town. At first glance, he noticed something odd: the front door was swung open, allowing the snow to pour into the house. The grief got stronger and more sour as he approached. Hesitating for a moment, he grit his teeth and pushed his way through the entrance.

He could not believe the scene before his eyes. The cabin was empty. All of the furniture and possessions which had belonged to the Maynors were gone. It was as if all traces of the family had vanished, leaving only the putty-filled walls and the rough wooden floor like a small box in the middle of nowhere.

In the center of that box sat a girl with her head in her hands, weeping profusely. Oren instantly recognized who she was: Alandra, one of his best friends in all of Rassan-Kaya. Although he never had romantic feelings for this particular girl, they had been the closest of friends since earliest childhood. The brown-haired girl gasped continuously, as if she were trying to hide her crying from her own ears. Oren shoved the door open as far as it could go and rushed to her side.

"Alandra?" he said gently as he put his hand on her shoulder. "Alandra, what happened here?"

Alandra tilted her head, revealing her face to her friend. She stared at him with dark brown eyes dripping with tears and a face that was as red as hell itself.

"They're gone," she gasped. "They're… gone."

"Where did they go?"

"I don't know," she said, looking around the room and trying to calm herself. "I didn't see Andy in weeks, so I thought, maybe, they were out on a trip for the winter, but no… they took _everything_. They didn't tell anybody where they were going, they just left. They didn't give me a chance to say goodbye."

He hung his head in sympathy for her, staring at the dented floor and wondering what could have happened to cause this. Andrew Maynor was Alandra's future husband. They were barely seen in public apart from each other, and there were even rumors that they were to be getting married very shortly. Oren could imagine how distraught she felt at the thought that she would never see her life's love again.

"They escaped this place," she said. "They probably couldn't take the winter, so they left for somewhere else."

Oren was about to say "If they couldn't handle the winter, they would have surely died on the road from the blizzards," but he stopped himself in time.

"Maybe they will return," Oren suggested. "They just might. But don't feel alone. You always have me."

"But I _am_ alone!" she said after a heavy sniff. "You don't know… what this means for me… everything has been for nothing… Everything we did…"

"I know what it means," Oren said gently. "I don't care if you don't believe me. I know what it means to have someone leave you just like that."

"No, you don't," she said firmly. "Nobody's left you and taken your entire life with you like Andy has, and don't try to tell me that's not true."

"But it is true," he insisted. "Just a month ago, before the storms hit, someone who meant the world to me has left my life and never came back. The hole in my heart has only grown bigger as time's gone by. I'm in so much pain right now, I can't even think straight."

"You're lying," she said coldly. "Who?"

"My dragon."

"Your _dragon?_"

He told her everything. When she was too wrapped up in her own disbelief at his story to remember her own grief, Oren gave her a promise.

"Scythe will return someday," he said, his voice starting to crack a little bit. "When Scythe comes back, I promise I will help you find Andy, and I promise you'll get to say your goodbye to him."

She didn't know how to respond, but it didn't really matter. It was something that he needed to say.

* * *

On the twenty-eighth day since Scythe's departure, Oren sat awake in bed and waited for Scythe to make contact with him. He sat like hunter in an ambush, ready to strike his foe and pin him down so he would not escape. He was determined to at least hold the conversation a little longer this time.

Sure enough, about two hours before midnight, the beloved voice of Scythe, however faint it still was, drifted into his head.

_Rider,_ he said. _I'm here once again. You don't need to worry about me, I'm doing very well._

_Scythe!_ Oren called. _Please, stay with me for just a little while longer this time! When I asked you to visit me, this was not what I meant!_

_I must go,_ he said.

_Please, no!_ he cried. _There's so much I wish to talk to you about! Please, just stay a minute longer, please!_

He needed Scythe's companionship. He needed his advice. He needed to tell his dragon about the Maynor family, and the mind-reading, and his father's obsession with his secret project, and…

… and there was no answer.

_**No!**_ Oren cried. _This is not the way I want to live with you, Xandar! Do you realize that our time is running short? Blade told us to cherish these days together, but we can't if you insist on staying so far away from me! How can our bonds grow like this? Damn everything, I just want you back!_

_You call me Xandar?_ responded the voice with a little bit of sadness. It then faded away into nothing.

Oren clenched his bed sheets hard between his hands, gritting his teeth in anger as he nearly tore them apart. It wasn't an intentional mistake he had made; it was a slip of his mind. He blamed his subconscious.

But then, about a minute later, Scythe's voice unexpectedly returned to him. It was a bit louder and more powerful this time, as if Scythe had gotten closer in order to make his message clearer.

_We have been apart for only one month, Rider,_ Scythe said sternly. _Can you not hold onto yourself for just a few weeks longer? I grow stronger every day. It won't be long before I am ready to be with you again. Think of me, Rider. I am more alone than you are. You have your family. I have nobody, yet it doesn't anger me, only you. Control yourself and be patient. Do not be so weak. I will be back someday while our childhood is still young._

At that, he was gone.

Oren's anger burned deep within his chest until sleep overcame him.


	8. A Walk

**-8-**

**A Walk**

_All little children need to grow up sometime, humans and dragons alike._

…

The winter did not relent. The following weeks took their toll upon the village, both physically and emotionally.

Nobody quite knew what to think about the disappearance of the Maynors. They had vanished so suddenly, without so much as a warning or a goodbye to anyone who cared about them. There was nothing anybody could do about it but wait and wonder, reflecting on how Rassan-Kaya had lost a very valuable part of its economy and livelihood, and how sorely they would be missed.

Oren tried to help Alandra by talking with her and sharing his loneliness with hers, but nothing he did seemed to help heal her devastation over the loss of Andrew. A couple of times, though, he managed to cheer her up by promising he and his dragon would help her as soon as they could, although she refused to believe in the supposed dragon until she could see it with her own eyes.

On top of it all, Oren felt many pangs of hunger which reminded him of how much rations were limited, needing to be portioned out scarcely to keep them fed through the whole winter. Oren was not used to fasting, and he quickly became subject to many frustrating headaches and weariness. He found it difficult to concentrate on the trivial things like his chores.

Oren knew that life didn't have to be so miserable for him; he knew that he could have taken on anything the world challenged him with, so long as Scythe would be at his side. But Scythe was never there for him, and the burning impatience and loneliness he felt from the separation slowly faded into a sort of hopelessness, a grim acceptance that the dragon had a mind of its own and wasn't always going to do what he wanted.

On the fourth night Scythe returned, Oren's usual excitement to speak with him was replaced this time by an indignant dissatisfaction. He knew already that the meeting would be meaningless, as usual, leaving him feeling even emptier than before.

_Rider,_ came the voice he was waiting for. _I'm here._

Oren didn't respond.

_Rider?_ it repeated, coming a bit closer. _Are you there? Or have you gone somewhere else for the night?_

_I'm here,_ Oren replied finally. _I hear you. You can go._

_Thank you,_ it said. _Stay strong, my Rider._

_I will not, _Oren replied bitterly, _not while you are away. You are my strength. Realize; I will be miserable for as long as you remain away, for I am only half a being._

Scythe didn't respond.

_You are never at my side when I need you,_ Oren further scorned. _You're no better than Xandar, the imaginary one! You have no right to call yourself superior to him._

Scythe remained, but said nothing. He simply waited, and the silence dragged on for a long time.

_Just go,_ Oren finally commanded. _If you have more growing to do, get it done with._

Oren felt the dragon give a telepathic sigh and wander off. He missed his friend, and found the pangs of his absence to be worse than any of the cold or the hunger he suffered. He threw his head down onto the pillow, trying hard to remember what it felt like to have his mind linked with Scythe. He only remembered that it felt wonderful, and he knew that he still had a long way to go before he would come to terms with the deprivation.

* * *

"Go after him," Alandra suggested.

It was the very next day. The harsh winter weather had relented a little bit for the past week, allowing the sun to come out and melt away most of the snow. Alandrada and Oren sat on a rock behind her house, watching the sparkling ice drip from the trees and trying to comfort one another once again.

"I just might," Oren hissed, rolling his eyes. "At this rate, there's no telling what I'm going to do with myself."

"I'm being serious," Alandra said. "I tell you, If I knew where Andrew went, I'd be on the road to him as we speak now. I can't do that. But you – you know exactly where your dragon is, don't you?"

Oren looked at Alandra, then out into the forest. She was right. He knew that Scythe was out there somewhere in the mountainous woods, just beyond his reach.

"You should go visit him for once instead of waiting for him to visit you," Alandra suggested. "Take a walk."

Just like that day when Oren realized he would be seeing Saphira if he traveled fast enough, a twinkle appeared in his eye.

"You're right," he said, his face lighting up a little bit. "It's been long enough since I've seen him, and you're right, I might just do something about it. I'll do it. I'll take a walk and go meet him myself. What's the worst that could happen? What would he do, run away from me?"

"He's really real, isn't he?" Alandra muttered in awe. "You're completely serious. I know you're not pretending him anymore. An actual dragon, hiding in the forest... And he's yours? I'm sorry, Oren, but I'm still finding it hard to believe that you, of all people…"

"Yes, I know," Oren said, shaking his head. "I've heard it before. The problem is, of all people, I'm even starting to have doubts that he's real… I haven't seen him in so long…"

"If you think you can do it, you should go," She said with a solemn nod. "If you find him, maybe it will bring me a bit of hope, as well…"

* * *

Oren decided he would walk into the woods as far as he could go, hoping he would eventually reach out with his mind to find Scythe. He dressed in his heaviest coat and his hiking boots, packed a knife onto his belt, found himself a walking stick, and left without even telling his family. He knew most of the woods by heart, but after nearly an hour of walking, he still couldn't feel anything of Scythe – he kept going, venturing into the unfamiliar territory.

Although it was relatively warm that day, winter still hung in the air – the trees were covered in a half-melting blanket of snow, forming tiny, sparkling icicles which continually dripped onto the forest floor like rain. The ground was soggy and slippery, and worst of all, the wind was dreadful. It was a dangerous and unpleasant walk, and Oren didn't enjoy one minute of it, but his desire to see Scythe overwhelmed any second thoughts he had about it, and so he slogged forth through the mud-puddles and snowdrifts.

After walking for nearly two hours, Oren finally felt a stray signal in his mind. He knew that he had found what he came for.

Closing his eyes, he spread his consciousness as far as he was able to reach. Sure enough, he found a hint, a tiny trace of Scythe at the far edge of his mind. He couldn't quite feel his emotions, but he could tell he was distracted with something. Oren didn't care, though, and he attacked Scythe with all his might and made his presence known.

_Rider?!_ Scythe yelped, his mind recoiling. _It is you! Why have you come so far from your home?_

_Because of you,_ Oren said. _Since you refuse to visit me, I've come to visit you._

_Rider…_ he said gravely. _I cannot believe you've come. I never would have expected this..._

_You wouldn't, _Oren shot. _You've not been around me long enough to know what I would or wouldn't do. But why is that? You should be the one who knows me better than I know myself! Show yourself to me, Scythe. For once, stop hiding from me._

Oren waited for further response, but none came. Five minutes passed, and Oren continued to observe the far-off twinkle of Scythe's mind, frozen in what he could only assume was indecision.

After what seemed like an hour, Scythe gave a telepathic sigh and replied. When his voice came, it was very deep; it held a sort of profound humiliation that touched Oren's heart. _Stay where you are,_ it said. _I'm coming._

Soon, Oren felt his mind starting to flood with the once-familiar warmth of his best friend, like basking in the sun as it comes out from behind a cloud. What came next was very surprising to him: it was a rumbling _whoosh_, the sound of the air itself ripping apart by a plummeting force.

_Scythe,_ Oren said eagerly, holding his breath. _I've missed you._

A dark shadow swept over the treetops above Oren's head. Finding an opening for himself, the shadow carefully dove into the forest and came to land before his Rider, blowing a gust of wind at him as he hit the soggy forest floor. He shook himself to dispel the snow that had caught on his scales from brushing with the treetops.

_**Oren,**_ he said deeply and sadly, hanging his head. _Here I am._

Oren stood in awe of the sight. Scythe was now nearly twice the size of a large horse. His red-and-white eyes radiated the intelligence and cunning of the wild. His shining black scales seemed to both match and contrast the glimmering icicles on the trees which surrounded him, but his snow-white spikes, which had shot out to be the size of large daggers, blended right in. His limbs had grown muscular and refined, and his tail had become so long that it might have been able to wrap all the way around himself.

His mind was different as well. Oren felt much more pride and confidence flowing from the dragon than ever before, but also a very difficult feeling, a heavy regret, which poured forth form him and drowned all other emotions. Scythe stepped forward and pressed his head against Oren's chest. Oren hugged him tightly.

_How I have wronged you, my Rider,_ Scythe said solemnly, his deep, awesome voice one more rippling through Oren's mind. _From the beginning, I've spent days and nights considering you and how you showed your resent to me whenever I came, and how I always trusted my instincts and assumed they were best. But last night, your words cut me very deeply, and I couldn't deny the truth you spoke, though I tried many ways to justify my behavior. And today, when I saw how you came through this cold only to visit me… I knew you were in the right, and not I. I understand, now… my pride has been blinding me hasn't it, my Rider? Instead of becoming one with you, I have become part of the wild. But it shall be no more. From now on, Oren, I promise to give you the respect I owe to you._

_I understand,_ Oren said, nearly coming to tears. _You made the decision you thought was right. There's no problem with you living here, Scythe, but the constant separation was destroying me. I can't bear to be parted with you for so long!_

_I know, I know,_ Scythe said, _and I know I was wrong for insisting we stay separate. It was something I felt was necessary in my heart, but as I grow, I'm realizing that sometimes the heart is wrong. My instincts are powerful and demanding, and I find there are many occasions I can't determine which of the instincts were meant for the wild dragon and which are for the Rider-bound._

_And you can't determine that by yourself,_ Oren said, _not unless I'm there to help you!_

_Indeed,_ Scythe said with a smile. _Then let those days be over, at once! From this moment forth, let Scythe and Oren be the friends they were meant to be._

As Oren felt Scythe's contrition flow into him, he knew the separation was over. The old, familiar joy welled up in his chest, an old feeling from the days he would wake up every morning to his companion's beckoning.

_We have much to say to one another,_ Scythe said. _Come, let us take a walk. I will show you the world in which I live. I will take you to my favorite corner of the mountains. If you're already tired from walking, you're welcome to climb onto my back. I'm strong enough to support you now, my Rider._

Shifting the weight of his heavy clothing, Oren mounted Scythe's back and rode him into the forest like a camel. Despite the layers of clothing he wore, he found his legs becoming irritated by Scythe's scales.

"Can't you fly now?" Oren asked as they walked farther into the woods.

_I can fly,_ he said, _but I refuse to take you into the air just yet. I'm still very uncomfortable with it. I need practice._

"You're uncomfortable with flying?" said Oren oddly. "Why could that be? Are you afraid of heights? I thought dragons were natural flyers."

Scythe unfolded his wings and swiveled his head around to indicate them. _I don't think my wings are growing the right way, _he said in a concerned tone. _I can't tell what's happening, but they feel… awkward. If the problem doesn't go away soon, I will have to wait and ask my parents about them._ He fluttered them a bit before folding them again.

"I understand," Oren said, rubbing one of his wings. "I don't think I'm willing to fly just yet either. I would need to… prepare myself for such a thing. I would need advance warning."

_It wasn't pleasant at all to start flying,_ Scythe explained. _I needed to force myself to try it. Here, I'll show you..._

They walked further, Oren approaching closer to the mountains than he had ever before in his life. Soon, the forest completely disappeared to reveal a large pond covered with broken glaciers of ice. A few various animals drank from it, but they all scattered at the first sight of Scythe. Oren looked up to see a frozen waterfall pouring from a very tall cliff and down into the watering hole.

_This is where I first tried to fly,_ Scythe said._ I always knew I needed to start someday. After all, what good is a dragon that can't fly? I would be of no use to you. After visiting you one day, I decided that I needed to try it. I climbed to the very top of that hill and leapt off toward the water, so that I wouldn't injure myself if I were to fail. As I was falling, my terror awoke my sleeping instincts and I realized how my wings are supposed to work._

"What happened then?" Oren asked.

_It was too late to fly,_ Scythe said with a laugh. _I fell. I hit the water. But the experience taught me what it means to fly. I knew I still needed much more practice to learn how to do it right. I jumped again the next day, and I managed to glide down to safety. It gave me hope. So excited, I was, that I immediately jumped again, and found I could circle the lake for a time until I stumbled and fell down into it. Today, I can jump and stay in the air for as long as I please, unless the wind is tugging on me. I've learned the theory of flight, but I remain an inadequate flyer. I still fail to understand how to launch myself from the ground as the birds do. My back legs are much stronger than my front legs, so I assume my body is capable of such a thing… Couldn't Saphira and Blade launch themselves from the ground like that?_

"Yes, they could," Oren said, remembering them clearly and offering his memories to him.

_I figured,_ Scythe said, shaking his head. _When it comes to flying, I know I have a lot to learn… but I'm good at swimming!_

"Really?" Oren said. "Show me!"

Oren climbed off Scythe's back, and he didn't hesitate to dive into the lake, sending a large ripple of water and ice shards across its surface. Seeing his long tail disappearing under the water like a large snake brought him a strange sense of amusement.

_You swim!_ Oren said in surprise. _I didn't think you would ever bring yourself to swim again. I remember how you had a bad experience with the water when you were young. I would have thought that you would be terrified of it._

_I am terrified,_ Scythe said. He pulled back a flap of thoughts in his mind to reveal a very sore wound which he was trying to nurse.

_Then why do you do it?_

_Because,_ Scythe replied, _I want the fear to go away. Fear of flying is understandable, even birds with injured wings are scared to fly. But I have never met an animal that was scared of the water. I would make a mockery of my Rider and all of dragon-kind to be scared of the water! I swim every day, and every time it becomes easier. Also… the other reason I swim is because of the fish._

He emerged from the water, proudly carrying a flapping red catfish in his maw. He smashed it a few times with his teeth, then threw his head back to swallow it whole.

_I adore fish,_ Scythe said with a wide grin. _They leave the most satisfying taste in the throat, a lingering sweet-and-sour flavor that remains long after the fish is eaten. They are my favorite food – besides, of course, the redwolf._

"That _smell_ is just the reason why I, among countless other people, can't stand fish," Oren told him. "You might enjoy them, but don't ever force me to eat one myself. I'd vomit it back up."

_A shame,_ Scythe said. _I will eat them all for you. Do you see this pond? In just the time I've claimed this as my territory, I've nearly emptied this pond of all its fish! When it got harder for me to find them and catch them, it occurred to me that fish were not infinite in supply, and I realized I was leading them to extinction. If I kept up the habit, they wouldn't be able to breed and fill the water again, so I… I tried to refill the pond. I tried to carry some fish from another pond out west. It was very difficult, because I needed to fly fast or else they would suffocate in the air and die. I believe I brought twenty of the blue ones in all, then I forced myself to stop eating them._

Oren laughed at the ridiculous notion of a dragon breeding fish, and they continued on their pleasant stroll through the frozen woods. The terrain became very uneven as the mountains loomed closer, but Scythe chose a path through a valley between two neighboring peaks and stayed very near ground level. Through it all, Scythe still rambled and Oren was happy to listen to him.

_But someday, Oren, you still must taste the meat of the redwolf. They are so numerous here, even more so than the brown bears. And so easy to catch! They howl at night and give away their location so blatantly!_

"Can you breathe fire yet?" asked Oren curiously.

_No,_ he said, _but I already feel it welling up in my belly. It helps keep me warm, especially when the storms are most harsh. Each day, it continues to grow. I gradually feel less discomfort in cold weather._

Oren set his hand onto the side of Scythe's stomach. He was right: past the chilly melted snow which dripped over him, his scales were surprisingly very warm, like the fuzzy hide of a bear or another animal.

They continued walking, and the valley shrunk down to become a very narrow crevice which branched off in many directions.

_This is the valley where I sleep,_ Scythe announced. _I don't have a single place which I sleep in every day, I simply choose a place where I'm the most comfortable at the moment. Sometimes I sleep in a ditch, or in a cave, or sometimes out in the open. The creatures don't seem to want to disturb me._

"And you find that surprising?" Oren laughed. "What time do you sleep? The night seems like it was made for you. How often to you stay awake? Do you like the night?"

_Immensely,_ Scythe said, his answer glowing with enthusiasm. _I was reflecting one day about myself. I have black scales. I am most in my element at night; my black scales blend in with the darkness and I become a fearsome predator. I started to train myself, sleeping long and conserving energy so that I might remain awake for a whole night and not need to sleep until the next. It worked well, but I found myself sleeping half my day away. So I rethought it, and I questioned what I had learned about day and night since my earliest childhood. I decided that I would work best sleeping during the day and being solely a creature of the night. It became my way of life._

"You sleep during the day?" Oren asked skeptically. "How come you're awake now?"

_I wasn't,_ Scythe said with a hint of shame. _I confess; when you called to me just earlier today… you woke me from my sleep._

"I'm… sorry!" Oren said, dumbfounded. "I didn't know-"

_I will be fine,_ he replied. _I have enough energy to make it through the day. But starting now, I will learn to change. I will sleep at night and accompany you during the day…_

Oren was about to reply, when Scythe flinched. He stopped walking immediately and turned his head to the air.

"What is it?" Oren asked, sensing worried thoughts in his mind.

_Feel the air,_ Scythe said. _The air is weakening. Like the way the ice weakens when you stand on it, the air weakens when it is being pushed by the storm._

"Storm?" Oren repeated, casting his gaze upward. "Should I return home?"

_No, there's no time to return home,_ Scythe responded. _The wind is growing too quickly. It will strike before you arrive. Instead, let me take you to a shelter which I often use when there are storms, and you will stay with me. Hold on tight. I must run._

Scythe took one last look at the sky, giving a loud snort.

_This storm will be a mighty one,_ he said, _b__ut if we hurry, we will escape it easily._

Oren gripped Scythe's neck spike, and Scythe began to pounce through the valley like a mountain lion chasing a deer. Although he wasn't nearly as fast as a horse, the ride was very bumpy, and Oren almost fell off twice and had to tell him to slow down.

They soon arrived at the end of a branch off the main gorge, which continued a ways under a very large overhanging rock. He saw that it would indeed make a good shelter from the elements, if the spiders and rats didn't become too unsettling. Oren stepped off Scythe, but soon found his head in disagreement with the rest of his body. He leaned up against Scythe again until the dizziness passed.

_You have a weak stomach?_ Scythe observed. _That will change over time, I hope._

"Of course," Oren said, setting himself down on the damp, gravel-covered cave floor.

Scythe set himself down by his side, and the two watched as the sky darkened and the fearsome snowstorm claimed the sky. The sunlight disappeared like a snuffed candle, and the wind started to whirl around outside the cave entrance. Even Oren could feel it in the air now: the storm was coming in quickly, and it would be heavy.

_You're hungry,_ Scythe noticed. _I'm hungry as well. Stay here, I'll find some food for us._

"I shouldn't eat uncooked meat," Oren reminded him. "I could get ill…"

_There are some other things here besides animals,_ Scythe said. _I will find something for you. Stay where you are._

"Don't stay out too long," Oren called reluctantly as his dragon headed out of the cave, "You'll get caught in the storm!"

_I will be back before the storm becomes too dangerous,_ he reassured his Rider. _Don't worry about me._

Scythe plunged himself into the blustery night to find food. He seemed to vanish as soon as he took a couple steps away from Oren, who already was starting to feel insecure about being left in pitch-blackness in a strange place far away from home. But Scythe offered a reassuring thought and turned his head to take one last glance at Oren, a small red light from his eye piercing through the darkness. Although they were separate, their mental link would remain. Oren knew he would not be truly alone.

Still, Oren couldn't help but worry as he watched the sky darken and become totally invisible, heard the wind become more ferocious, and felt the bitter cold escalate until it was nearly tearing the flesh from his face. He wrapped himself up in his coat, but it didn't provide as much comfort as he wanted. His stomach demanded to be filled, his world turned invisible, and his body became surrounded in pain. His only remaining comfort was Scythe's constant consolation.

As the minutes dragged on, Scythe's mind grew fainter as his search for food took him farther away. Growing dizzy from weariness, Oren laid his head down on the hard rock, hoping to find some temporary peace.

After a few more minutes passed, Oren lurched at the sound of a sudden _grunt _coming from the cave entrance. Relief at Scythe's return filled him. But as he focused on the bulky silhouette lazily coming in from the cold, he saw that it was not Scythe at all. A large brown bear sought refuge from the storm… and it was _angry._

Mindless and annoyed, the bear's only thought was to chase out the cave's current inhabitants so it could continue its hibernation in peace. With a disgruntled growl and a display of its fangs, it took steady steps toward Oren. With Oren's fingers and limbs frozen in the cold, he could barely bring himself to react. Panic mounting, he started to crawl away from the beast.

_Scythe…_ Oren called. _There's a bear here… It's going to attack me… Help me…_

The bear gave another, much louder groan. Oren knew he only had seconds remaining until the beast would lunge at him and force him to leave the cave or die. In desperation, he yanked out dagger from his belt and threatened the bear with it, but his eyes went wide when he saw that the bear's head alone was three times its size. Fear swept through him as the bear's breath fell upon his bare hand.

_I'm here!_ Scythe announced as he burst back into the cave. _I'm here for you, my Rider!_

The bear turned its head to sniff out the new annoyance, but did not even had time to give its final holler of pain before Scythe's mighty jaw bit down on its neck. Its lifeless mass slumped to the floor.

His eyes glowing brightly, Scythe proudly stood over the kill and stared down at the frightened little Rider.

_Though a thousand shadows lurk in the darkness of the night,_ he proclaimed, _only one of them has permission to touch Oren!_

Scythe shook himself, sending the snow and ice from his body flying at the walls of the cave. He dropped a large branch on the floor before the boy. It was the branch of an evergreen tree, lined up and down with small, sappy fruits.

_Feed yourself,_ Scythe said. _Your food was easy to find. The trouble was getting prey for myself. Animals can be so difficult to find when they're all hiding from the storm. But now, I have this bear to eat…_

Scythe sat by Oren and began to tear into the warm carcass. Oren could already feel his frozen fingers starting to thaw upon contact with his warm scales. Once he found his hands working again, he picked up the stick and lazily examined it. He bit into one of the fruits and found it sticky and full of seeds, but pleasant to the taste. He soon hungrily devoured them all.

_There are too many bears,_ Scythe grumbled as he started to tear into his own food. _I would eat more of them, but their meat tastes disgusting. They need to stop breeding._

"Thank you," he muttered weakly, his voice shaking from the cold. It was all he could think of to say.

_Thank you for coming today,_ he replied. _Because of you, I'm starting to understand my nature and responsibility as your dragon. I need your help as much as you need mine._

When they had both eaten their fill, Scythe and Oren crawled farther to the back of the cave. There, Scythe sat down and lifted his wing, inviting Oren to join him.

_Let us rest,_ he said warmly. _I promised you this day would come. Let me offer you comfort, just as my mother and father did for their Riders._

So, for the very first time, Oren experienced something he had always yearned to feel: the security of sleeping under a dragon's wing.

When Scythe curled his tail around him and covered him with his black leathery blanket, he felt all his distress melt away into a heavenly peace. Though he was so far in the wild, he knew that nothing would dare harm him. His chills were all banished by the warmth of Scythe's body. His stomach was pleasantly full. Scythe's mind, beaming with a contented pride, flooded and mixed with his own, easing his worries. The steady rumble of his breathing lulled him further into tranquility.

Just for that one moment, as Oren laid with his head nestled comfortably atop Scythe's leg, too blissful to even stir, he knew that it was all worth it. This is what he had always wanted. This is what he lived for.

But the moment didn't last for too long – Oren didn't even try to hold onto his consciousness, he just let himself get pulled down into the black oblivion of sleep.

It was by far the longest, most peaceful sleep of his life.


	9. A Friend

**-9-**

**A Friend**

_Life doesn't seem so lonely anymore…_

…

The next morning, Oren could vaguely remember coming to his senses for a moment. His mind being still trained to wake at the same time each day, his eyes fluttered open a few hours after sunrise. He found himself staring at the black membrane of Scythe's wing, with only a soft glow of the morning sunlight filtering through it and to his eyes. He started to stir, but Scythe's own drowsy mind pressed him back in the direction of sleep. _You are still tired,_ his dragon said, _so don't rise yet._ Oren saw no reason to fight it, so he remained limp and allowed himself to fall back into the peaceful slumber that seemed like it was never going to end.

The next time he started to stir, it was afternoon. Scythe had been awake for a long time and he had waited patiently for Oren to rise with him.

_Good morning, Oren,_ Scythe said with a smile as he lifted his wing and freed the boy from his hold. _How was your rest? Satisfying?_

His mind was drunken with contentment. Oren answered with nothing more than a beaming smile.

_I'm glad you enjoyed it,_ Scythe said proudly. _You should get used to it. There will come a day when we will spend every night together. _

Oren stretched and squinted at the cave entrance, but his eyes were only met with an assault of pure white light which was amplified by the snow. He could still hear the wind swirling around outside.

"I feel like I died and came back to life," he said, gripping his forehead. "How long was I asleep? I thought you always wake me…"

_I didn't think it would be appropriate this time,_ Scythe said with a tilt of his head. _You were sleeping so soundly that I couldn't bear to wake you. Giving discipline to your sleep time is healthy for the mind, but there is no harm in breaking the rules on a rare basis. Besides, look at what the storm has left. You are trapped here for at least another day, and even longer if it doesn't disperse. _

Scythe stretched himself out, and then ambled toward the front of the cave. He snatched up a rat which was busy munching on the rotting remains of the bear before shoving the carcass out of the cave and tossing it into the snow.

_Are you hungry for breakfast yet?_ Scythe asked, looking out into the snowy oblivion.

"Not particularly," Oren grunted.

_Good,_ said Scythe, returning to his side. _Me neither._

Oren spent the day talking with Scythe, telling him many things_._ He told him about the difficult winter, the disappearance of the family down the street, his promise to Alandra, his father's mysterious workings in the forge, what he had done with his journal… everything he could remember since the day they separated. Scythe took in all his words and accompanying thoughts, offering his own perspective of everything.

_Your father must be making a gift for you,_ Scythe concluded. _Think about it. Why else would he be working so vigorously in the middle of his season of rest, and keeping you away? He wants to surprise you. And do you not turn nineteen years of age this coming spring? What better way to honor your new vocation as a Rider than with a handmade gift on the next anniversary of your birth?_

"Maybe it's a sword," wondered Oren. "That makes the most sense… but swords don't take so long to make."

_It is probably something you will never guess,_ Scythe said whimsically. _Blacksmiths are clever creatures._

After contemplating Glaedr's surprise, Oren wondered out loud what to do with Alandra. Scythe determined that if he learned how to adequately fly, and if there was still enough time left before their teachers would return, he would be happy to take him on a journey to find this missing family.

"And to think we've been keeping her waiting for so long," Oren fretted. "It's been weeks! They could be anywhere by now!"

_And with every passing week, it becomes more likely that word of them will arrive to us,_ Scythe noted. _If their disappearance was so sudden, chances are that they will turn up somewhere._

"Are you so sure about that?" Oren asked.

_No,_ Scythe confessed. _It's just the word of my instinct._

After conversing for quite a while longer, Scythe rose to his feet.

_You are hungry now,_ he said. _It has been hours since you've awakened. I will go get food._

"Fine," Oren said. "But be careful."

_You be careful!_ Scythe snapped back, but kindly. _There's nothing that can threaten me out there. You, on the other hand, need to stop attracting bears._ With a mischievous grin, he added, _Because I don't think I can stomach another bear. I'd have to eat you instead!_

"Noted," Oren said with a little laugh, "but I'd like to see a bear get in here as it is now."

Scythe's smile soon turned to a scowl when he brought his attention to the blocked cave entrance. The wind had died down, but the snow had kept falling all day – allowing it to accumulate and bury them in. A dimly glowing curtain of snow was all that he could see.

Flicking his tail in curiosity a couple of times, Scythe concentrated a loathing glare at the wall of snow. He inhaled as far as his lungs would allow him, then clenched his muscles around his belly. Opening his jaws wide, he released his breath. He was rewarded only with a painful cough that caused his maw and nostrils to erupt with a thin black cloud of smoke. He hung his head.

"Close," laughed Oren. "Someday, Scythe. Someday."

_Yes, someday,_ Scythe said as he closed his eyes and plowed straight through the snow. _Someday __soon__._

* * *

Scythe returned shortly with what looked like a little grey raccoon for himself and another branch of the same fruits for Oren. The back of Oren's throat started to sting with the redundant taste as he chewed through them, but he figured it was useless to complain. Oren was surprised to see Scythe play with the live little animal for a while, pinning its tail and watching it hopelessly sniff around for an escape opportunity. Finally, he snapped his jaw down onto it and ate it whole.

"Do you find that amusing, or something?" Oren chuckled oddly as he ate his food.

_I am learning,_ Scythe said defensively, chewing the animal. _It is useful for me to observe an animal's behavior when it is in danger of death; it will help me to become a more efficient predator later. This particular type of animal, __I have never captured before. Did you know that some animals will die before you even pierce their skin? Apparently their heart just cannot take the fear._

After lunch, their lazy day continued. Scythe sat in the back of the cave and busied himself with cleaning his claws as Oren waited for the accumulated bitterness of the pineberries to fade away and think of anything else he would want to discuss.

"Scythe," Oren said, speaking up. "When we get back home, there is something you still need to do for me."

Scythe nodded. _Indeed; I must reconcile myself with your father. It shall be done the moment we return._ Closing his eyes, he added, _There are still so many ways I must repair the damage my pride has caused…_

Scythe finished licking his claws and thoughtfully turned to look at Oren.

_I have a question for you,_ he said. _Would you like to call me Xandar instead of Scythe?_

It was a question Oren did not expect. "What?" came his hiccupped reply.

_I realize now that it may have been… wrong of me to name myself without your permission,_ Scythe said, bowing his head a little. _It's just another way that my pride has controlled me. I should have chosen among the names you set out for me, and among them, I should have chosen that one, since it was predetermined for me before my birth. Instead, I ignored them all without giving any of them a passing thought, because I did not understand their significance at such a young age. Therefore, if you'd like, you have permission to change my name._

"_Scythe,_" Oren said sternly. "Stop being so ashamed of yourself. Your shame doesn't suit you. I like your name. I like _you._ I like everything about you, _especially_ your pride."

_But my pride has separated us, and stunted our growth,_ Scythe said, turning his head away. _Your memories of those days are anguished because of me._

"But only because you were away!" Oren replied. "I just wanted you to be my friend, instead of being so withdrawn all the time! When you're with me, there's nothing I would change about you. Nothing, you hear? You're nearly the most magnificent creature in all of Aephea. You deserve your pride. Wear it for the world to see."

Scythe's tail shifted across the floor at the comment. Oren gave a satisfied smile as he felt the dragon's ego grew.

_Nevertheless,_ Scythe said, again bowing his head and looking straight into Oren's eyes, _I ask because I want you to be happy with our friendship. You say you like my name, but you forget that I can see into your thoughts. You still like the name Xandar better, although you've tried very hard to convince yourself otherwise… Just consider it. That's all I ask. I will be the same dragon regardless of my name, but you might find yourself a different human, if you can understand what I mean. What were Arya's words again? That a name doesn't change you, but only how others see you?_

"And the way you see yourself," Oren added. "You like Scythe better. I can see into your thoughts just as well."

_I will grow to like whatever best pleases my Rider,_ Scythe said as he stood up and ambled past Oren to the front of the cave. _Think about it, and don't mind my thoughts._

Scythe ventured outside to check on the currents of the clouds once again, and Oren found himself mulling over the question. For just a single moment, he pictured the name Xandar attached to the face of Scythe, just as he had always assumed it would be. When he did, he was mercilessly overwhelmed by a crashing wave of childhood dreams and fantasies. His whole journal, which he had tried so hard to force out of his mind, came back and hit him. This was _his dragon._ This was _his_ best friend. He knew in the depths of his heart that the name Xandar fit him well, and that the thought of renaming him as such was so very pleasant, but he found himself with a towering bout of hesitancy at the whole idea of taking away the name that both of them liked and had already gotten very used to.

_I will think about it,_ Oren told him, _But don't expect an answer anytime soon._

* * *

As Oren and Scythe huddled together to stay warm and to watch the end of the storm pass, passing away the whole of the day until sunset came, Oren's father also found himself a bit cold and restless that night. He sat by the waning fire with a faraway look in his eyes as Ulan barged in the back door with an armful of snow-covered wood. The old man was about to yell out "Hey, could ya' lend a hand 'ere, please?", but noticed his disposition and decided to bear the weight himself. He balanced the logs and twigs across the room and to the fireplace.

"Where's our boy?" he asked as he dropped his load into the iron rack. "I'm starting to miss our log-boy. I haven't seen him in days…"

"He's out," Glaedr said simply. "A friend of his told me where he was going the other day."

"You worried?" Ulan asked, eyeing his troubled gaze.

"No, no…" Glaedr replied with a shake of his head. "No reason to worry about Oren now, is there?"

"Well, _somethin's_ on your mind," he said, taking off his gloves and bending down to tend to the fire. " 'Course, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want. Just thought I'd show some sensitivity for once. How's your… thing coming along?"

"It's as done as it's going to get," Glaedr replied with a sigh. "I just hope it's good enough for my son."

"Bet it is," Ulan said. "This is _you_ we're talking about, brother. If ya' made it with any kind of care, I'd bet it's fit for god himself, not to even mention your son."

"Hmph, yes," Glaedr said. "I like to tell myself that, too. Then I remember that Oren's not the only one I've got to please anymore, and I don't just mean Scythe. I'm the father of a Dragon Rider, and all that implies…"

Ulan didn't know what to say to that. He tended the fire so its heat would help warm the house throughout the night, then sat in silence next to his brother.

The storm died down and stopped that night, but it was as cold as always. The fire's heat, which stayed in the air for a few hours after it had been put out for the night, allowed the men enough time to fall asleep, but their dreams were full of pain and bitterness.

Glaedr arose very early the next morning. After a quick breakfast, he put on his heavy coat and boots and took a step onto his covered front porch. He stopped for a moment to gaze at the wintery sight of the town: paved nearly to the waist in a smooth, ethereal layer of whiteness which shimmered in exotic colors as it was hit with the orange light of the rising sun. Not a sound came from the woods, not even a chirping bird; only the little whisper of the wind and the panting of his own breath accompanied the sight. He stood for a while, hesitating, knowing he could just as easily go back inside and eat a fuller meal or start up the fire again, but he decided to grab his shovel, push himself out into the snow, and make his way to the forge once again.

Once he got off the main road, it became a little easier to walk. The layer of trees which covered the outer perimeter of the town helped to reduce the snow which fell on the ground to only a few inches. He made his way to the entrance of the forge, just like he did every morning for the past month. His project was very important to him. Although he tried to convince himself it was finished, he figured that taking another look at it would help take his mind off the fact that he was very hungry and cold, and that his son had become something that, as he was now starting to realize, truly scared him. As a father of a Dragon Rider, what was he expected to do? Was it even necessary for him to raise his son anymore? Would he even have a meaning in Oren's life in the years to come? What was he, compared to the legacy of the Riders? He took a sad look into the sagging branches of the woods before slamming the back of his shovel into the forge's doors to knock the wooden sills clean. He then began the tedious chore of digging the doors free of the snow and ice. When he'd cleared away enough room for the doors to open, he fumbled with his numbed, calloused fingers into his coat pocket for the key.

Just before he could shove the key into the lock, he heard a beastly grumble rise from somewhere behind the building. His breath caught. He felt the urge to run and hide himself in the forge, but he could only stand motionless and listen to the sound of large footsteps treading through the snow towards him. He realized, perhaps too late, that it was only a certain dragon and not any beast he needed to fear.

Although he was happy that his son returned safely, he still felt very uneasy around Scythe and tried not to bother Oren when they were together. Sighing, he decided that he at least owed Oren a greeting and put his key away.

But before he could prepare himself any further, Scythe stepped out from around the corner of the building. The sight of the dragon made him gasp in brief terror. The dragon was so much larger now than he had remembered or would have even expected at this point in time. Rather than the little creature that would innocently scamper around the house and the yard, Scythe was now a menacing figure whose head towered many feet over his own. A tremble rippled over his skin as his eyes swept over Scythe's new form, mainly noticing that the various bones protruding through his hide were now dangerously-pointed tips rather than little dull nubs, and the black scales which covered him were looking less like a lizard's or a fish's and more like the impenetrable armor worn by a knight. Oren rode upon the dragon's back, seemingly fearless in the presence of such a menacing monster.

"Oren, good to see you," Glaedr said as he noticed his son. "And you too, Scythe. You've grown."

_Well met, father of Oren,_ Scythe said as he brought his head down to look Glaedr right in the eyes. _It has been too long._

"You're speaking to me?" Glaedr exclaimed, barely believing what he had heard.

_I'm sorry for being so conceited toward you in my childish days,_ Scythe said, nodding his head a little. _May we be friends?_

Oren smiled as he watched a little bit of his father's subtle fear melt away. The old man felt more comfortable knowing that the beast would talk to him, but not by much.

_I am as much a subject to you as Oren,_ Scythe continued, bowing his head and showing reverence. _Let me be treated as a member of your family. Let me call you Father._

"Well, I don't know if I could ever call you a son," Glaedr said awkwardly as he turned to address the dragon.

_And why not?_ Scythe asked, tilting his head back up to eye the man.

"Okay, fine, fine, you're my son," Glaedr stammered. "Whatever you want."

_That was a question, not a threat,_ Scythe said, surprised and a little amused.

"Well, look at yourself, Scythe," Glaedr said with a little forced reverence. "You're a… I mean, I find it hard to even consider holding authority over you. I should be the one, really…"

_You're scared of me,_ Scythe said. _Why, because I am a creature of power? Because I appear like a walking pile of weapons? Look at yourself, father of Oren. The swords you craft are also deadly weapons of war, yet you don't fear them, because they were forged to serve you. Likewise, the blades that line my body were forged to serve and protect Oren, and through him, you. Like a sword belted to your side, my presence should be relieving your fear, not adding to it!_

"Is he always this poetic?" Glaedr said with a little nervous chuckle.

"Yes," Oren answered, a little relieved that his father had lightened up. "But I don't really think he can help it."

_I spend much of my time thinking about what I should say in certain circumstances,_ Scythe explained with a smile, _especially this circumstance, talking to you for the first time. But father of Oren, please, don't be afraid of me. I am your ally and friend._

"Fine, then," said Glaedr, giving Scythe a careful little pat on the head, "Friends it is. I suppose you can call me your father, or whatever you like, really. Actually, I would prefer being called by my name."

Smiling, Scythe sat down on the ground and let Oren dismount him. He then turned to head back to the forest, telling them that he would be nearby at all times should they ever need anything.

"Well, is that good enough?" Oren asked his father.

"Is what good enough?"

"My promise, to make my dragon be friendly to you" Oren reminded him. "I'm sorry it took so long, but up until now, he wouldn't talk to anybody… Really, that was my very first thought, to get him on terms with you…"

Glaedr sighed and wrapped the fuzzy, snow-powdered sleeves of his coat around his son, giving him a little hug.

"Yeah, that's good enough," he said warmly.

* * *

For the next month, Scythe was sure to keep Oren very good company. He lived in the forest nearby, able to clearly project his thoughts to Oren at any time. He visited as often as he could without giving away his presence to the rest of the town, offering help with manual labor, hunting, and whatever else he could manage. Though the winter was so very long, it didn't seem nearly as cold or painful anymore.

Now, Oren never considered himself a lonely boy, even in the absence of his imaginary dragon. Living in his small village, he was close friends with several of the children he had grown up with. Those close friends were the first, beside his own family, to hear of his new identity and his new companion. Though freely shared his secret with them all, it seemed that only Alandra halfway believed what he said… that is, until one day when he forced his friends to meet with Scythe, face-to-face. It took some time, but eventually, they became comfortable in the dragon's presence, and regarded Scythe as a trusted friend and one they found they could freely talk to and ask for advice.

One particularly thawed morning near the beginning of the second to last winter month, Oren and Scythe were having a chat with two of these friends, Davian and Noras, beside the frozen fishing pond. Davian's father was an architect, and he was responsible for the construction of many of Rassan-Kaya's homes, including Oren's. Noras was a much older man, about 25 or so, and his profession was in hunting for animal skins so his mother and aunt could sew together clothing to sell.

"Are you even planning to help Alandra?" Davian asked with a hint of playful accusation. "You haven't given much thought to it. By the time you're ready, she'll be saying 'Andy, who's that?'"

"Well, I can't do much until Scythe learns to fly well enough," he said, glancing over at Scythe who treaded across the icy surface of the lake, trying to peer through it in places.

"Don't dragons live for thousands of years?" Davian wondered. "It could be a century until he learns how to fly."

"No, that's not it," Noras said with a chuckle. "You see, Oren's madly in love with Alandra, and wants her for himself. He's just waiting for Alandra to get over Andy."

Scythe shot a glare at him from across the pond. _For your information, Oren has his own interest in someone,_ he said. _A young lady living in Rohall, By the name of Epheney._

"_**Scythe!**_" Oren yelped in astonishment.

_What?_ he said, tilting his head and grinning. _It's true._

"Really!" Noras said sarcastically, drawing out the word. "If that's true, how come I've never heard of her? If you're in love with her, you of all people would be babbling about her constantly."

"I don't live in Rohall," Oren said. "I can't really expect her to notice me. I really don't think she even knows I exist. I only see her when I visit for the trading posts, except this last time…"

"Why not?"

"Don't have the courage, I guess," Oren said.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Davian said with an evil grin. "Approaching a girl is fifty times more scary than approaching a _dragon_ and asking for one of her eggs, because, well, you know, a girl can kill you just by nodding her head."

Oren laughed, dodging the accusation.

"Really, Oren," Noras said. "If you like the sight of her, at least introduce yourself to her. You really should, otherwise, you'll get nowhere."

_That's just what I've told him,_ Scythe said while intently scratching the surface of the ice with his claws. _He's very intent on refusing, although he has nothing to fear for trying._

"You should threaten him, then," Davian shouted. "Make him do it."

_You know, I think I will,_ Scythe said evilly. _Oren, the next time you go to Rohall City, you shall speak with Epheney. If you come back without memories of it, I will…_

"Eat him," Noras laughed. "That should work just fine."

"See how he manages to keep living without any of his limbs," Davian suggested. "No, wait. Drop him from the sky. That would be priceless."

_You think that pain and death are the worst forms of torture, do you?_ Scythe said. _No, if he refuses to talk to her, I will fly down to Rohall and tell her myself!_

Scythe's head snapped back to the ice. He growled as a figure darted past him under the water.

"I want him," Noras said. "I wish I had a dragon to bring me to task and solve all my problems like that. Just think, when he gets a bit bigger, he can get anything he asks for. Unspeakable pain awaits anyone who refuses!"

"Don't we all?" Davian said with a sigh. "But I guess Oren's the one who deserved him… Maybe he could help fix my father's problem, whatever it is."

"Still?" Oren said in shock. "He hasn't calmed down yet? You have to be joking. How long has it been, six months?"

"Nearly," he said. "I don't even know what to say to him anymore, since I don't even know what's wrong. He's just… furious whenever he comes home. I almost want to leave for Zygre for a month or so to give him some time alone."

_I don't think that would be wise,_ Scythe said. _If you're certain that you are not the cause of his anger, then stay with him. Your company might just be the reason he rises from bed each day to put up with his problem._

"That's… a good word of advice," Davian said. "I never thought of it like that before."

With a startling explosion, ice cracked apart and Scythe plunged down into the lake. His head popped back up only a few moments later, with a large blue bass between his jaws.

_Finally,_ he exclaimed, nearly swallowing the fish whole. _I was afraid that the ice would never break. But now, the blue fish have no escape from me!_

"Just don't eat them all," Davian shouted. "People need the food too, you know!"

_I won't eat very many,_ he said, gleefully diving back down into the water. _Fifty, at most._

"What a sense of humor he has," commented Noras as he skipped a rock across the surface of the ice as if it were springtime.

"I know," Oren groaned. "I think he got it from his mother."

* * *

At last, it came time for Scythe to say his farewell again. As he felt another growth spurt welling up within him, he knew that he needed to return to the wild for a time to train himself. This time, though, he was sure that Oren would be ready for his news.

_Oren, my Rider,_ he said to Oren one night as he sat in bed, trying to fight the pangs of pain from his unsatisfied stomach. _It is time for me to return to the wild._

_For how long?_ Oren asked, a bit jarred at the announcement. _I thought you were staying…_

_I am staying,_ he reassured, _but I need my temperament, something only the wild can offer. I can't grow stronger without it. But I want you to know that I will not leave you alone this time. I will visit you constantly. I promise, every night, I will come close enough to talk with you for as long as you desire, and I will come to you should you ever call. But I am growing again, Oren, and neither you or your village can nurture me the way I need. Do you understand?_

Scythe grit his teeth as he awaited an answer, feeling a few thoughts mulling around in Oren's head.

_Then go,_ Oren finally said. _It's not a problem._

_Will you be distressed over it?_

_I will wait patiently for you this time,_ Oren told him. _I'll be fine. If not, I'll at least pretend to be._

_Good,_ Scythe said. _I will try to return to you in the spring. Maybe then we could reveal ourselves to the people of your town. And we can work on your Uncle, too._

_Oh, Uncle Ulan,_ groaned Oren. _Father lightened up to you, for sure, but Uncle still doesn't like you. What do we do about him?_

_I see it a bit differently,_ Scythe said. _He likes me, just not in the way one would expect. It's hard to explain. But he still needs work, and we shall surely prove ourselves to him someday._

_Well, then this is goodbye,_ Oren said. _Stay strong._

_I'm not leaving yet,_ Scythe laughed. _I need to say goodbye to your father and your uncle as well. I will leave a few days from now. You think I would not learn from my mistakes?_

Oren smiled. Somehow, it was much harder than last time to deny Scythe's leave.

_And only half a year remains until Eragon returns for us,_ Scythe reminded him. _Do you think we will be ready?_

_We'll never be ready,_ he answered, _but as long as you're here, I don't care._


	10. A Bond

**-10-**

**A Bond**

_Just how deep can a bond be? Is there a limit?_

…

When the last of the winter began thawing into spring, Scythe returned from his retreat. The weeks had gone by so quickly; because of his dragon's continued company through their telepathic link, it seemed to Oren that was never truly gone, and the remaining winter months melted away faster than an icicle in the noon-day's light.

That is why, when Scythe returned from the wild, Oren was not prepared to see just what his friend had grown into.

_Rider! Come to me!_ Scythe called, waking Oren one morning. _I wait for you!_

The telepathic signal rose from close by. Too close by.

_You're back!_ Oren cried, scrambling out of bed. _Where are you?_

_Just come outside of your house,_ he replied. _Quickly!_

Oren did as he was told. He dressed himself in the first vest he found, and then stumbled through his house and out the front door.

When he did, he couldn't believe his eyes.

Standing taller than a fully-grown elephant, and with his head towering above any of the meager structures which lined the road, Scythe strutted proudly through Rassan-Kaya, approaching Oren's home and caring not about who would see him. Oren saw how he smiled and how his mind reflected his intense joy and satisfaction at finally revealing himself to his Rider.

The horrified inhabitants of the town were drawn out to see him. Scythe noted their presence, but he didn't care; he was focused solely on Oren, smiling brightly as he anticipated his reaction.

A nervous murmur arose from the population as they gazed at the spectacle. Some followed warily behind the dragon as it marched down the road, others cowered on their doorsteps or inside their houses. Many of them never imagined seeing a dragon besides Saphira or Blade. Oren held his breath as he watched many of his friends and their families assemble in a kind of procession behind the dragon, their gazes locked on the magnificent creature.

Upon approaching his Rider, the dragon stopped. Holding his head high and releasing a rumbling sigh through his nostrils, Scythe opened his mind to the village inhabitants and released a telepathic call for all to hear.

'_Someday' has finally come!_ he exclaimed. _Look at me, Oren! I have grown! I am ready for anything the world challenges us with, my Rider! I am finally fit for you!_

"Magnificent," Oren quietly choked out.

Oren appraised him, gawking in wonder and asking himself if it was indeed the same tiny creature which once perched on his shoulders and slept in the forge house. This dragon was more than half the size of Blade.

Scythe shuffled his body around, turning to address the small crowd that had gathered around him and spreading his wings to enhance the effect.

_People of Rassan-Kaya, I am Scythe, and this is my Rider, Oren, son of Glaedr the sword-maker. I am the firstborn of Saphira and Blade, and the first dragon hatched in the land of Aephea! Those who have followed me here this morning are in luck! You are about to witness a monumental event: Oren's very first flight!_

With the exception of a few gasps of disbelief, the crowd was utterly silent. However, Oren was not. "Flight?" he yelped. "You're… Wait…"

Scythe turned to face his rider. _Yes!_ he exclaimed. _For all my life, __I have been waiting and training myself for this very day! For days and nights, and nights and days, I have practiced and strained myself, and now, I am finally ready for you! Let us fly!_

Before Oren could say any more, Scythe snatched him right off the ground with his front claw and placed him on his back at the base of his neck. Panicking, Oren barely found time to grip the nearest before Scythe reared his massive body on both hind legs and thrust himself upward, letting lose a cry of jubilation. His wings crashed down, and a sickening lurch of the stomach took Oren's breath away as he felt himself sharply rise farther into the air.

The takeoff was very unceremonious and sudden, and Oren could hardly realize what was happening until he found himself high above the treetops, clutching that neck spike for dear life.

_It's about time you let me back in to your mind!_ Scythe shouted. _Never, _ever_ block me out when we are flying, do you understand?_

For a few moments, Oren couldn't reply. Every deep breath he tried to take was stolen from him by the rushing of the air. The ground far beneath instilled him with a sharp feeling of vertigo, and his stomach threatened to turn itself inside out.

Despite all the sickness, Oren was overwhelmed by the wonder of it all. He was actually flying!

_I'm sorry,_ he finally said. _But this is very new and frightening… Just… don't let me fall, please?_

Scythe's consciousness trembled at the comment. _Keep your head down,_ he suggested. _You will feel more comfortable._

Oren did as instructed, and in doing so found he was able to breathe much more easily. Still, he grasped that spike with all his might as Scythe continued to flap and climb higher into the air.

When they were high enough, Scythe leveled out into a gentle glide. Feeling much more relaxed at the slower pace, Oren raised his head, straightened his back, and glanced around. He peered down and examined the dragon he rode upon, noting how his outstretched wings twitched up and down ever so subtly to keep balance, and how his lengthy tail was kept level with the rest of him just by sheer momentum. He glanced down at the ground far below and became awestruck by the new perspective, seeing the way the various forests cast shadows in the morning sunlight and how the land had its own shapes and contours like he'd seen on maps and pictures, but never in real life.

_So this is what it is like to fly,_ Oren said, marveling at the ground below. _You've done well._

_Thank you, Oren,_ Scythe said, turning his head slightly so he could peer back at his Rider. _When I grew, I found that my wings became more reliable than they once were, but still not ideal for carrying you… But I knew it was time for you to fly, and I practiced so long, even in the snow and windy days... It took all these months before I could bring myself to imagine carrying you safely._

Oren glanced back at the transparent black wings at his sides, noting how they were still smaller than they should have been. _In any case, you're doing well,_ he said. _I feel safe here. Mostly._

_I'm glad _you _feel safe,_ Scythe said. _This is still difficult for me to do. Part of me can't comprehend what I'm doing right now. But at this point in time, it's what you deserve._

_Where are we going, exactly?_ Oren asked.

_To eat!_ Scythe answered with glee. _We must have a magnificent breakfast to celebrate this occasion, just you and I!_

They soared northward until they reached the mighty mountains. Though they approached at such a great altitude, the mountains were still so much higher than them. Oren always imagined flying over the mountains on his dragon; it never occurred to him that they were indeed impassable.

_Indeed,_ Scythe said, sensing his thought. _I once tried to fly beyond the mountains. It was a mistake! I eventually began losing my breath and becoming disoriented, as though I had stayed under the water for too long. My muscles and my wings tensed. It was difficult to return to the ground afterwards, as frightened as I was. I will never fly you that high, and I will never attempt to pass over the mountains with you. I wonder if these mountains are cursed, somehow…_

Scythe turned his attention to the ground below. _Oren, prepare yourself!_ he shouted. _I will dive. It might frighten you, but if you can hold on and support yourself, you will be safe. If not… I can only promise you that I will try to catch you. _

Oren swallowed hard and lowered his head back down upon the dragon's neck, holding on to the spike so hard that his knuckles were turning bright white. Lending Oren a part of his courage, the black dragon folded his wings at his side and simply allowed himself to fall. Terror and exuberance flooded from the dragon's mental link, mixing with his own, as they felt the rushing wind prohibit their lungs from breathing and tried to comprehend the visage of the ground as it rushed toward them. Oren clutched dearly to the spike, wondering how the tiny grip of his hands was effective enough to keep him from separating from Scythe's back.

The dive only lasted for twenty seconds, though time had become incomprehensible to them.

Scythe flared his wings, breaking the fall and evening out his course.

_How was that?_ Scythe called back.

_I held on,_ Oren said, _but it was intense!_

_You should get used to it,_ Scythe said. _The dive is a useful technique. Flying animals use it very often, and I'm no exception. Now, time to find the prey…_

Scythe soared over the treetops until they found a long, winding field with a watering hole at the end. There were various animals gathered around it, all taking a morning draught. Scythe folded his wings partially for another dive, this one much more shallow and abrupt. He looked around for the animal he wanted, then set his course to converge with the ground where it stood. The animals scattered at the sound of Scythe's wings, which they had apparently come to know and fear, but they were no match for his speed.

Just when it looked to Oren like they were about to collide head-on with the ground, Scythe reached down with his front claws and snatched a sizeable wolf straight from its pack in mid-escape, then broke its neck to make it stop struggling. He carried the warm carcass over the pond and to the other side, where he flared his wings and finally came to a landing, carefully setting his back legs firmly upon the ground. He back-flapped a couple times to balance himself before tossing the dead wolf down into the grass and dropping to all fours to let Oren dismount him.

_And now,_ Scythe proclaimed as he lay on the ground to let Oren down, _you are no longer just my Rider in title only! You have braved your first flight! And I as well. That was… difficult. We must practice flying often, so it may become easier for the both of us. _

_Well done,_ Oren said weakly as he limply slid down Scythe's leg and to the ground.

The first thing Oren noticed when his feet hit the ground was his legs. They were covered in small streams of blood! Oren gaped at the injury; He never even noticed the pain.

_My scales must have irritated them enough to draw blood,_ Scythe commented. _That is something I did not anticipate…_

"Saddle…" Oren said, trying to ease his sore legs. "Saphira wore… a saddle. You need one too…"

_I suppose so,_ Scythe said with a little humility. _But I don't like the thought of wearing one, to be honest with you. If we could find some way possible for you to ride bareback, I would be very pleased. Besides, those wounds are very superficial. They will be sealed before you realize it. Perhaps if the skin is cut enough, it will grow calices and become immune to this particular abuse…_

The second thing Oren noticed was the pulsing lack of orientation in his head. His vision spun and swung from side to side, and his stomach threatened an upheaval. But there was nothing in particular in his stomach at the time, so it was easy to resist the urge to vomit… but one thing was certain, he could not stay on his feet. He stumbled down into a sitting position, and held his head until it stopped spinning around in circles.

_Oren,_ Scythe said after a few minutes. _Your ears… Are your ears changing shape? They seem different than when I last saw you._

Oren reached a hand up to touch one, and to his surprise, it had indeed changed shape. The top of the ear seemed flatten and expand upward far more than usual.

"They are," Oren gasped. "What's happening to me? Do they look… odd to you?"

_It was difficult to notice because your hair always covers them,_ Scythe said. _You could be turning into an elf, just like Eragon! Perhaps the magic of the bond with me is transforming you. But Eragon wasn't just an elf, was he? He said he was an elf and a man at the same time, and that… it 'just happened'… _

"Elves are greater than humans in almost every way," Oren contemplated as his fingers fidgeted with the strange new shape of his ears. "Being a man-elf is not something I'm going to complain about, especially if it's a side effect of being a Rider."

Scythe turned his attention to his prey. _Now, it's about time you taste this,_ he said, tearing the wolf corpse in half. _I've also waited all my life to share my prey with you, and now, I can breathe fire._

He set the back half of the wolf down on a rock, then exhaled a pillar of deep red fire, the same color as his eyes, down onto his prey. When the smoke cleared, the fur of the beast was nearly burned off, and the skin was turned black.

"_Yiie_!" Oren exclaimed. "Don't _char_ it! I can't eat solid rocks!"

_Believe me, I've practiced that enough,_ Scythe said. _It should be just the consistency you like. Any longer and it would have all turned to ashes. Now go and eat it! You must taste it!_

Scythe turned to his own piece of the meat, the front half, and began to meticulously pick it apart.

_What is it?_ Scythe demanded after he noticed Oren staring at him.

"Nothing," he said, "It's amusing to see you pick at your food when you could just as easily swallow it whole."

_And miss out on the taste? This is something that must be savored. Eat it, already!_

Oren reached for his pocket, but realized his dagger had been left at home. He tried to pull at the skin of the beast, and found it to be weakened enough by the burn to tear apart. A mess of cooked muscles, bones, and singed blood sat before him. He tried to pull apart the muscles with his hands, but failing that, he followed Scythe's example and ripped a piece of meat with his bare teeth.

"Hmm," Oren said as he chewed. "A bit tough, but satisfying. I can see why you like it so much."

_It's tough because YOU wanted it cooked,_ Scythe said. _Also, cooking it takes away the flavor that comes from the blood! Cooking makes all meat taste nearly the same!_

"Well, it's either that or I die of some illness," Oren shrugged. "But it's not bad, the way it is. I could eat this often."

_Perhaps you need not worry about illness since you're turning into an elf,_ Scythe suggested. _Aren't they immune to such things?_

"I won't take that chance until I know for sure," Oren said.

_For now, I guess I can only show you,_ Scythe said.

As Scythe took another bite of the meat, he let his sensations seep over into Oren's head. Oren' was greeted with the taste of raw meat soaked in blood, something that could only be fully appreciated by a predator. The taste was indeed much more powerful; had it been accompanied by the feel of the slimy meat in his mouth, it would have been enough to make him gag.

Then, it happened.

Suddenly, Oren _did_ feel the texture of slimy meat in his mouth, but he did not mind it, actually; it seemed much more pleasant than expected. That was the first thing he noticed.

What he noticed next was that he was no longer in control of his body. He tried to shift his arms and legs, but none would obey. In fact, his field of vision seemed to move all on its own, controlled by some separate will. It looked down at the meat once again, a bloodstained wreck. His vision was disoriented and distorted, like some artist's rendition; it seemed that light was much brighter and the dark was much darker. The change in contrast was confusing.

The next thing that happened was that his head turned all on its own, and he saw… himself.

There he was, sitting down on the ground, staring blankly into nowhere, his singed pile of meat lying on the ground before him. The view was from up higher, as he could see the top of his head; he noted his own black, tangled hair which halfway covered his now-misshapen ears.

His vision turned farther, and a sea of black came into focus. Black scales, folded black wings…

Oren realized what had happened, but had no control to stop the effect. He struggled with all his might, but his commands had no effect; the body was not his own. He yelled to be released, but his telepathic voice fell flat as if it had no medium by which to travel.

Just as suddenly as it happened, it was over. Oren's feeling and vision snapped back into his own eyes, and he collapsed backward onto the ground.

"Scythe, you _pulled me into yourself?_" Oren yelled in disbelief, sitting back up.

_Oren!_ Scythe cried. _I'm… I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that! I don't understand what has happened!_

"That was strange…" Oren said, touching his forehead. "I felt trapped, and then I was seeing the world from your perspective… I didn't know you could do that!"

_I didn't know, either,_ Scythe admitted, his eyes widening in worry. _I was… in your mind, showing you the taste, and then… when I retracted myself, you came with me! How could this happen? Did I… yank back too hard? I don't understand._

Scythe stood up from his food. He strafed around Oren for a few steps, keeping his eyes locked on him.

"What? What is it?"

Oren felt himself yanked out of his body once again and into Scythe's. This time, however, he didn't feel so claustrophobic about being trapped in a body that wouldn't obey his orders. He tried to turn his head, and it seemed that Scythe gave permission for his head to be turned so that it felt like Scythe's body was his own. He looked intently at his old body. Inside, he could feel Scythe's mind processing the experience, trying to figure out for himself just what was causing it.

And then, something truly profound happened. Oren felt himself seep back into his own body, but only partially. His vision became something incredible, a combination of both dragon and human sight. He witnessed sight from his own eyes and Scythe's at the same time, yet the image did not confuse him in the slightest. He felt his own human body sitting upon the ground, as well as the entirety of the much larger dragon body and all it crushed beneath itself. He found that he was still free to command himself and Scythe, but any action required mutual permission from both sides. He felt all of Scythe's thoughts and feelings as his own, and felt how they converged with his to form a central pool of knowledge where ideas could combine and learn from one another. It was such a strange sensation, being in two places at once, but even stranger was how it felt so natural.

Before long, the souls diverged and both found one another in their rightful forms.

_Oren, do you realize what this implies?_ Scythe said gravely. _I… I always knew that we were bonded in some way, however deeply, but not like this! Oren, we are not just connected, we are __**one!**_

Oren's eyes were wide. "So, we can share all our thoughts at once, not just one at a time…"

_No, you don't understand!_ Scythe said, gritting his teeth. _Our bodies are interchangeable! We are a single soul! We are but one creature in command of two forms! Any distinction between you and I is merely an illusion created by our separate perspectives and senses! Oren, do you see what I mean?_

"I don't see how that is possible… How is it possible?" Oren wondered. "We still converse with each other… we have our separate thoughts and our opinions… we don't share _everything_!"

_Perhaps the only reason we are still separate is because we both have a separate brain,_ Scythe said. _The brains are physical things and run separately from one another, forming two separate capsules of consciousness. But even those can combine to become one, and we can move and act as a single body, just as how both your hands work in perfect cooperation with each other. So, our individuality is false. This bond we have is deeper than either of us imagined!_

Oren flexed his fingers before his eyes, wondering if what Scythe said was true. Was he really the same being that inhabited the dragon, the illusion of independence created only by his human mind?

_It is proven,_ Scythe said solemnly. _I did something I should not have done, but I needed to prove my beliefs to be true. Oren… w__hen we were together just now, sharing our thoughts, I… deceived you, and led you to return to the wrong body. In effect, we switched bodies. So right now, you are Scythe, and I am Oren! But we don't notice a change, because we both abandoned all of our thoughts and memories in exchange for those held within the other body. Our souls have fused together to become a single soul. We… are one._

"I'm… Scythe?!" Oren gawked, looking even more intently at his fingers. "How… I mean… It's too much to believe. I don't feel any different!"

_But it wasn't a change at all, was it?_ Scythe said with a nod of his head. _It was as two ends of a rope exchanging places, it ultimately had no effect, because it was always just a single rope with two ends. Though I see it, I am still struggling to swallow this new truth!_

"Do you think it's dangerous?" Oren asked. "I mean, do you think we might… damage one another somehow, switching places like this, or merging?"

_I don't think so,_ Scythe said. _Do you damage your hands by focusing on one or another, or at both at the same time? I think this is our very identity as dragon and Rider, and we should take advantage of it to its fullest potential._

"Scythe… I think we should switch back," Oren said. "While I know it might not seem to make a difference, I'm finding it… disconcerting, somehow. I'd like to know that I'm back in my rightful body."

_Of course,_ Scythe said. _It was only an experiment._

They once again merged for just a moment, then returned to normal as if nothing ever happened.

_Oren, let's play with this even further,_ Scythe suggested. _Let me bring your consciousness into my body, but relinquish control to you. Be sure to keep your consciousness rooted to your own mind._

"So that I can control your body?"

_And I, yours,_ Scythe said, _if I can succeed in crossing over to your mind at the same time. If it works, we should retain full knowledge of the merge. Are you ready?_

Oren felt himself pulled over yet again, but with a very new sensation. He awoke within Scythe's body, still with complete awareness of who he was. Though Oren had always caught some short glimpses of what it was like to be Scythe, since their minds shared many thoughts, images, and feelings over the course of their bond, Oren never imagined the act of completely assuming the form of a dragon!

Oren, in control of Scythe's form, stood himself up from the ground. His form was very massive, but it was supported by bulky, tensed muscles which could control the mass. He felt like a giant pile of boulders, yet he had enough strength to easily lift and move himself. His leg muscles seethed with incredible energy on every heartbeat, especially his back legs, since they were responsible for supporting most of his weight. He opened his wings, and instantly felt his bloodstream flood with adrenaline, as if naturally preparing itself to embark on the strenuous labor of flight. He tested his tail, and found its length surprising. It was more difficult to control than he imagined it would be, since it was not lined from front to back with voluntarily-controlled muscles, but it somehow felt like a useful tool, perhaps for things like flying, swimming, and fighting.

Oren felt the dragon's mind, constantly pulsing with its intelligence and instincts. It effortlessly acknowledged every little thing which entered its field of perception, every little change to every little sense, and processed it all with cunning calculation and a nearly endless bank of memory. Its sense of focus and sanity was impenetrable – nothing the world could throw at him would so much as put a dent in it. However, the dragon's body was most hungry at the moment, slightly annoyed that its meal had been interrupted.

Oren began to focus on the senses. Scythe's vision was very different than his own. Colors were more distinct, but there were less of them; outlines between objects were much more discernible, which he imagined would become useful when trying to see in the dark. Focusing on a far-away tree, he found that, unsurprisingly, the dragon's vision had a much longer range than his own. He also thoroughly appreciated the ability to turn his head in any direction, even to look back upon his own body.

The sense of smell was overbearing. Thousands of smells, many of which went undetected by a human's nose, all came to his attention. Things like the smell of the water on the lake, the grass, the ten different types of trees that surrounded him, the twenty different types of animals that were all cowering behind rocks and waiting for him to leave so that they could continue their draught… it seemed like nothing in the radius of one league could be hidden from his snout. The combined scent of the forest was always changing as the wind shifted direction, trees swayed in the breeze, and animals scurried in and out of its field of perception.

Oren found that, also not surprisingly, Scythe had a very powerful psychic sense. Not only could he smell all those creatures around him, he could feel their minds. Some of the more intelligent animals acknowledged his presence; some were nearly erupting in terror, others ignored him as if knowing that there would be no escape anyway should Scythe choose them as his prey. But the minds of all those little creatures were dwarfed in comparison to Oren's, a prominent, pulsing presence which sat at his side, so very clear and easy to understand.

The rest of Scythe's senses were nothing special compared to those. His sense of taste seemed different and almost lacking, the sensations of salt and bitterness overpowering most others; his hearing seemed only a little more impressive than his own, if not able to perceive some lower sounds, and his sense of touch was, compared to a human's, simply not there. The scales which lined his body acted like a sheet of armor which blocked contact with his skin; he could tell when something put pressure onto him, but couldn't exactly "feel" it as a human would.

_I admit, I'm jealous,_ Oren said, swiveling Scythe's head down to look at his own body.

_You're jealous of something that is already yours?_ Scythe teased, returning the glance.

_And what do you think of me?_ Oren asked.

_Interesting,_ Scythe said, flexing the human muscles. _You are so… small. But that is the main strength of the human race, is it not? Your size contributes to your ingenuity. Your tiny little fingers can shape and mold nature to your very will, unlike anything a dragon such as myself or any other animal could hope to accomplish. And sensitive! Your mouth has a greater sense of taste than mine, and your skin trembles at every contact. Your pain threshold is unbearably low, perhaps because your body is so fragile compared to mine… And your mind… so many emotions lie here, different than any I've ever felt in mine…_

_You're clearly superior,_ Oren said, grinning wide with Scythe's mouth.

_Wrong,_ Scythe said. _While a dragon is clearly the superior creature next to a human, we are superior to both, because we are both at once! We both possess the strength of a dragon and the ingenuity of a human, as well as whatever other powers like this one that we are gifted with as a result of our bond!_

With a strange yanking sensation, both of them returned to their rightful forms.

"This is all just getting strange!" Oren said. "Becoming an elf, and now, this? Being linked to a dragon's soul? Will I ever understand all the mysteries of being a Rider?"

_I think not,_ Scythe said, biting into his food again. _I don't even think Eragon knows all there is to know about being a Rider… just as you will never understand all the intricacies of your own humanity, or of life itself. There's a limitless well of knowledge to be found everywhere… it just depends on what you focus on. Let us wait for Eragon and Saphira to tell us everything we cannot figure out on our own!_

"And until then?"

_Until then,_ Scythe said, lifting his head toward the sky. _We've promised our help to somebody, remember? Today is the day we set out to seek Andrew Maynor. Let us find him, or his corpse, before the year is through!_

* * *

After Oren finished his food, Scythe crunched down his leftover scraps and they flew back into the village. This time, Scythe carried Oren in his claw instead of on his back, not wanting to open up all the scabs that had started to form on his legs.

Many things happened that day. Scythe and Oren conversed with many people, including Glaedr and Ulan, Noras and Davian, and anyone else who inquired to him about his incredible revelation.

When it was all said and done, the dragon and Rider sought out the one person they had been meaning to talk to for the past few months: Alandra.

But Alandra was nowhere to be seen.

Oren and Scythe could not find her anywhere, and neither could many of the village's inhabitants.

In fact, when they went to search at her home, they found it completely empty.


	11. A Threat

**-11-**

**A Threat**

_As beings of such power and freedom, all Riders are certain to make enemies…_

…

"They've vanished!" yelled a man. "Just like the Maynors! What is this black magic?!"

Oren and a crowd of his neighbors stood around the now-abandoned house which had belonged to the Weaver family just less than a day prior.

Scythe flew down from the sky, causing an uproar among the crowd as people scrambled to get out of his way. He approached the front door and peered inside.

"You caused this!" a man accused. "The dragon must have done it, there's no other explanation! This has never happened before!"

_Quiet,_ Scythe demanded as he poked his head into the door. _They fled in a hurry. The smell of dust still clouds the air in here._

"Can you find them, Oren?" a woman pleaded.

_We can, and we will,_ Scythe said, retracting his head from the door and looking about the small crowd. _Oren, you stay here with your people and search the village. I will fly, and search for them from above. I will look everywhere I can, from the roads leading into the cities, to the entire forest if I must. I will not stop until they are found! They cannot have gone out of our reach so quickly…_

_Wait, the roads?_ Oren asked in secret. _What if you are seen?_

_Then I am seen,_ he answered. _It matters not at this point._

Scythe launched himself into the air and flew away towards the forest.

_Stay strong, my Rider,_ he called as he climbed to the sky. _I will be back as soon as I can._

Oren, along with a significant team of companions, searched every square inch of Rassan-Kaya for the Weavers. No matter how hard they searched, they found nothing. No footsteps in the mud, no stray items dropped from their bags… no slightest hint. He could only hope that Scythe would catch wind of something wherever he had chosen to fly.

But after hours and hours of fruitless searching, it became night. Oren reached out for Scythe with his mind.

_We've found nothing,_ Oren called to his dragon as he trudged along the roads back to his home, leaving behind the still vigilant search parties. _It's too dark now, and I can't go on._

_I haven't found anything either,_ Scythe answered. _I'm also growing weary. I've spent several days and nights practicing my flying… I cannot bear to remain awake for another night. I may need to take a rest now._

His strength depleted, Oren decided that he, too, needed to retire for the night.

However, something happened on the way back to his house. It was the last thing he would have ever expected to see… and his first clue that something far more dangerous was amiss.

"Oren!" hissed a voice from around a corner. "Oren, come here!"

Oren stopped in his tracks, glancing around. "Who is that?" he hissed back.

"Just come!" the voice pleaded. "I can't stay for long."

Very warily, Oren turned the corner into the dark alley-space between houses. The silhouette of a man stood there in wait for him. Oren squinted as he approached the man, and was taken aback when he realized who it was: it was Andrew Maynor, son of the first missing family!

"Andrew!" he shouted. "What happened to you!?"

"Quiet!" Andrew hissed. "Keep your voice down. Get over here, quickly! I can't stay long."

"What, why?" Oren whispered, stepping farther up to him and trying to shake his hand. "Where've you been? Alandra and her family went missing just today –"

"I know where Alandra is," Andrew said, but with a hint of sadness in his voice. "She's fine. It's you that's in danger! There's this man… he's an outsider, he's not from here at all… he's trying to get to you!"

"_What?!_"

"Is your dragon nearby?" Andrew asked, lowering his voice and looking around.

"I could call him…" Oren whispered back.

"No, don't!" Andrew pleaded. "This man… he's using sorcery of some kind. He uses sorcery to take command of another's free will! He wants to find you, and use you to capture the dragon for himself!"

_What?_ thought Oren as he felt his heart leap up into his throat.

"Who is this man?" Oren demanded. "Where is he? How do you know about him?!"

"I know not his name, or his appearance, as he keeps his face hidden," he explained tersely, "but he's holding Alandra captive, and he's… using her… to make me do what he wants. He used his sorcery against the Maynor family as well, and commanded them to depart from the village; he thought they were involved with you and the dragon, but he was mistaken. Now, he sent me into town to find out what the people were doing, but when I saw you, Oren, I knew I needed to warn you no matter the cost."

"Cost?"

"He can read our minds as well," Andrew hissed. "If I don't stay long, I can forget what happened here… But Oren, you need to take your Scythe and fly far away from here. Do you understand? Go! Get out of here!"

Andrew turned to leave, but Oren grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "What about you?!" Oren said. "What, now that you've helped me? Do you really think you'll be able to forget about it?"

"Forget me," Andrew said, pulling away. "You're the Rider, you're the one who needs to live."

"Stay!" Oren insisted, almost yelling, as Andrew turned to walk away. "Tell me everything! Scythe and I will destroy him!"

"NO!" Andrew said. "Don't come. Your life will only be in danger, and your dragon's life as well, and mine, and Alandra's! I need to return now for her sake. You need to fly away from here! Go!"

Andrew darted off into the darkness, leaving Oren alone and confused.

A _sorcerer_?

Not even a year had passed since Scythe's hatching, and now some evil man had discovered his existence and plotted his undoing?

Oren stood, wide-eyed, into the darkness of the cloudy night. What had he done wrong? Somehow, his secret had been discovered by somebody that wasn't to be trusted. How did it happen? Worse yet, what was he to do now? How was he to pay this terrible price for his mistake? Panic overcoming him, Oren fled into the safety of his house and locked himself into his room. There, he waited… and waited… cowering under the sheets of his bed… until he finally unfolded his mind and allowed Scythe to speak to him.

_I'm here, Oren,_ Scythe said faintly as Oren opened up to him. _I heard Andrew's words as well as I could…_

_What do we do?!_ Oren said, nervously pulling at the sheets of his bed. _Scythe, we have a magician after our heads! By the gods, he should have stayed and told us all he knew._

Scythe was silent for a second. Then, surprisingly, he answered with, _What are your ideas?_

_My ideas?_ Oren snapped back. _What are my ideas compared to yours?_

_You want to know my ideas?_ Scythe answered, his thoughts pulsing with agitation. _We should flee. That's what my instincts tell me to do. They say I should take you and fly far away from your homeland, never to return again. But is that what you really want, Oren? It can't be. So tell me, what is it that you want to do? _

_We can't flee!_ Oren resolved. _What kind of a Rider am I if I flee from this fight? My first real fight! We need to find a way to destroy this man and to save those he has captured. This is why you were born, Scythe!_

_But it is I that this man is after,_ Scythe reminded. _If we would attack him, we would only be conforming to his plans. We must be careful if we intend to do anything drastic._

Oren sat in his bed, scared out of his wits. He mulled over the situation like a worried father with missing children. What was he up against? Not just a man, but a magic user of some kind? One that could read minds and control wills? The only comfort he found was in the fact that he was still safe for the time being, and so was his dragon.

_Oren,_ Scythe said, a very serious and grave feel to his voice, _what would you have me do?_

Even though the room was pitch black and he could see nothing, Oren's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. For the very first time, his dragon was asking for orders from his Rider, like a servant to a master, or a knight to a king. The weight of responsibility seemed to settle upon his shoulders. He knew this day would come eventually, but now? This was too soon! This wasn't supposed to happen until long after Eragon returned to train him! But here he was, a Rider in his very first dangerous situation, with his dragon humbly submitting himself to his will and awaiting his command.

_Stay away,_ Oren commanded. _If this man shows his face, I don't want you to be anywhere near me. Tomorrow, I will keep an eye out for anything suspicious._

_So be it,_ Scythe said. _But I refuse to leave you completely. I'll stay close enough so that we can communicate, however faintly it may be._

Oren felt as Scythe withdrew from him, his telepathic presence shrinking down to a tiny speck, like that of a single star which gets lost in the dotted night sky. It was a dreadful feeling, but he felt safe knowing that Scythe was far from danger.

Satisfied for the time being, Oren's eyes began to flutter closed.

_You're not falling asleep in your own house, are you?_ Scythe's tiny voice echoed, startling him back awake. _That's not very wise._

_My house is secure enough,_ Oren rebutted. _I'm tired. I need my strength. Let me sleep._

_Secure?_ Scythe said, forcing a laugh. _From a sorcerer? Oren, don't be stupid. Find somewhere else to hide for the night, somewhere that's not the first place a person would look for you._

Oren sighed. He knew Scythe was right, but he felt too tired to move.

_I know where to go,_ Oren said nervously. _Sir Andov's estate would be the perfect place to hide. But it would be dawn before I get there… and besides, I'd never make it. I'd collapse along the way._

_Then we shall go there tomorrow in secret with your father and your uncle,_ Scythe said as his own mind faded away into weariness. _Now, just sleep in a friend's house for the night._

Oren picked up his traveling bag, stuffed some spare food and clothing inside of it, and made his way for the front door. He was surprised that his father was not still awake, as he was usually still wandering about the house until sometime after midnight. He figured that maybe he was still out in one of the search parties.

When Oren opened his front door, he was met face-to-face with a strange man in a black cloak standing just at the bottom of his steps.

With a gasp, Oren slammed the door closed and locked it.

"Is that you!?" the strange voice called from outside. "Thank god, I found you! Do you realize you're being chased? You need my help."

At the sound of the voice, Oren stopped in mid-sprint on the way to the back door. Hesitating, he waited to see if the man would say anything else.

"Get over here, dragonrider! Quickly, it won't be much time before he comes."

_Scythe!_ Oren called. _What do I do?_

Scythe had fallen asleep, and there was no way Oren's thoughts could wake him up from so far away. He had to make this decision on his own. Swallowing hard, he warily returned to the front door.

"Who?" Oren hissed. "Who's after me?"

"My brother is after you," the man answered. "He's an old acquaintance of yours. Do you remember him? His name was Ward."

Oren opened the door again, and looked over the man. His face was indeed familiar, the same one he had seen with Ward right before leaving Qin village.

"Get out here, boy!" the man rasped, grabbing Oren's arm and pulling him along. "We've got to move! He's coming! By the gods, I just prayed I'd get to you before he did… When I found out what he was doing, it was already too late for me to stop him… Where's the dragon?"

"He's… asleep," Oren grumbled as he tried to keep up with the man that was stealthily trying to lead him around to the great forest far behind his house.

"Hah!" the man laughed nervously. "Asleep, at a time like this? Some smart dragon that is. But keep him at bay for now, we need the element of surprise if my brother shows up…"

"Ward?!" Oren gasped, nearly tripping over ditch. "Is he actually a magician?"

"Aye, and a powerful one," the man said. "He never shares his secret if he can help it, much like yourself. Ah, speaking of which…"

Nearing the very edge of the village, the man pulled Oren down behind a pile of shrubs. Letting go of the boy, he stuffed both of his hands into his cloak's pockets, quickly scouring them for something…

"Put this on your arm," he said, pulling out a strange golden bracelet and presenting it to the boy. "This contains a powerful protection spell. Wearing this will prevent my brother from manipulating you if he draws too near."

Oren took the bracelet. He turned it over a few times in his hands, examining the strange, small jewels which lined the outside and how dark and lusterless they appeared under the moonless cover of the night.

"Put it on," the man insisted, looking over his shoulder. "We have no time to lose. He is coming…"

Oren slipped the bracelet onto his left arm. As he did, he felt a very odd burning sensation where the metal touched his flesh, as if the bracelet was both too hot and too cold, yet not at all painful.

"Now, let's go," Oren said.

The man did not move. He only stared at the arm which now bore the bracelet, seemingly frozen with the same indecision that belonged to Oren just a few moments ago.

"What is it?" Oren asked. "What? Is he near?"

The man smiled. Parsing his lips only a millimeter, he uttered a little whisper:

"_I win_."

Before Oren reply, the man grabbed his arm once more.

"What are you talking about?!" Oren demanded, raising his voice a little.

"_Shh_," hissed the man. "Keep your voice down. That's an order. Don't want anything to go wrong, not now!"

"What's the matter?" Oren whispered.

"The matter," said the man, "is that you, Oren dragonrider, now belong to me!"

At the sound of those words, it all made sense.

_No._

"You must admit, it was a clever ruse," the man said. "When I found that the boy had told you about me, I knew I needed to act fast before you got away or did something unpredictable… but I even impressed myself with my performance, on the whole."

_It couldn't be._

"Let me go!" Oren demanded, still in a whisper. He yanked his arm out of the man's grasp, and surprisingly, the man let him go freely. He collapsed onto the twig-ridden ground and tried to scramble to his feet.

"Don't go," the man laughed. "I command you not to leave my side!"

Oren's body was overtaken by a pulse of painful electricity, causing his legs and arms to lock in place and keep him pinned to the ground. He grunted in pain as he rolled onto his back, glaring at the dark figure which came to kneel over him.

"The bracelet you now wear," he explained, "is a bond. No, I'm not a warlock, but I met one once. He gave me this. I stole it, actually. Well, in a sense. He left it behind, and I didn't have the heart to give it back. It was just too useful an item to give up, and I thought it would surely come in handy someday. You see, the wearer of the bracelet, that is you, is bound to obey every word uttered from the mouth of the wearer of the ring, which is I!"

The man lifted his hand from the darkness of his cloak, revealing a little golden ring with a glinting gemstone, nearly identical in decoration to the cursed bracelet.

"Don't try to take it off," the man said. "It won't work, and it may just kill you. Wonderful creation, is it not? I can't truly read minds, but I can order my subjects to tell me everything they know. It all works out so well. I used it to capture two whole families just trying to get to you!"

"What have you done with the Maynors and the Weavers?!" Oren demanded.

"Killed them," the man replied curtly. "They're all dead. Especially that traitor of yours. I made sure he _felt_ it!"

"Who _are_ you?!" Oren demanded, finding himself completely speechless otherwise.

"You can call me what everyone else calls me," the man said evilly. "_Wraith_. And now, I have a dragonrider at my command, and therefore, a dragon. My very own dragon! I never would have dreamed it… but when you said goodbye to my brother, and he saw the mark on your hand, I knew what I had to do. Now, Oren dragonrider, or should I say, 'former dragonrider', now that your dragon is mine, give me your arm!"

Against his will, Oren stretched his arm for Wraith to take, and he once again found himself helplessly dragged through the forest surrounding the town, much more ruthlessly than before. The dark-cloaked man ran with care, making sure not to approach any of the search parties that were still wandering about the dark woods. After a few minutes, they were free, far away from any chance of being seen.

"Now, let's get some rules set down," Wraith said as they walked farther into the forest. "Your dragon is not to get into the way until it is time. Tell it to begone, and not to come back until six days have passed. I should be ready by then."

"It will never leave me," Oren warned him.

"Nonsense," Wraith said. "You are its Rider. It will obey you. Say what it takes to _make_ it leave you, and that's an order! And also, you are not to tell the dragon about me, or where I am taking you, or anything of the sort. In fact…"

Wraith handed Oren a small, rusty dagger from his pocket.

"…if your dragon arrives before I'm ready to carry out my plans, kill yourself. With _this_."

* * *

Like that first day when he heard that the Riders of Alagaësia were arriving to Rohall City, Oren didn't quite remember anything that had happened since the man, Wraith, had ordered him to kill himself should his dragon try to rescue him. He vaguely remembered being dragged to some remote, buried pit deep in the forest, then thrown into some strange shack-like structure and left alone. After that, only bits and pieces of a long, absentminded weeping seeped in and out of his memory.

Oren awoke in a very dank, dark place. He found himself in a corner of the room, with only a muddy stone floor beneath him and a jagged rock wall at his back. His face was soaked in his own tears, his body in his own sweat, and his clothes in the moisture which covered the room

As if by instinct, Oren reached out for Scythe. There he was, still sleeping safe and sound, somewhere far away from the man who wanted to take him. Oren prayed that Scythe would never, ever awake… for when he did, Oren was bound to convince him to leave and return in six days.

How could this have happened so fast? How could he have succumbed to defeat so early in his life?

Only one thought cycled through his mind: _I am nothing but a disgrace._

A disgrace to Scythe, to his father, to Eragon, and to the whole legacy of the dragon riders. Just one stupid decision was enough to destroy his life, his freedom, and his lifelong dream… It was just one decision, and the first one he had to make without Scythe's help… Looking back upon it, he saw that foe's ruse was so obvious, but he was blind to it. He could have turned and ran, and he and Scythe would have been free…

He realized he had even disgraced Andrew, who had died just to save him from this fate!

Another set of tears started to stream down his face as his dragon's consciousness started to stir.

_Oren!_ Scythe called. _I'm here! I can hardly believe myself, falling asleep like this! I tried so very hard to keep awake, so hard, but… the sleep came at a moment when I wasn't paying attention… Oren, what has happened to you?!…_

_Scythe, you must leave,_ Oren said, still unable to hold back the tears. _Go, and don't return until six days have passed._

_No,_ Scythe replied. _Not at an hour like this. I will stay right where I am. You need me to watch over you._

_Scythe,_ Oren said with more strength, _I need you to go. Leave me, and return in six days. That is an order, dragon!_

_Oren, what has become of you?_ Scythe roared telepathically. _The enemy has captured you, hasn't he? And you speak by a will that is not your own! Oren, I will come for you now, no matter the cost! I will find you!_

_**NO!**_ Oren shouted suddenly and loudly. _Don't come for me! Don't! Leave me! Leave! Go! You must trust me, Scythe. You wish to know what I would have you do? This is my answer: I would have you leave! Now!_

_Oren…_ Scythe said, nearly speechless. _I… How do you expect me to do this, to leave you like this, and to live with myself? And for six days? If there was ever a time you needed me, Oren, it's now! I… don't understand your motive… But… I will go, by your command. But by every fiber in my body, when I return in those six days, I shall see to it that the man who has done this to you shall be STREWN ACROSS THE GROUND!_

At that, there was silence. Scythe was completely gone.

Oren realized that it may have been the last time he would ever speak to his dragon by his own free will.

Oren had run out of tears, but his gasping fit wouldn't stop. He held his head in his hands and tried to clear his mind of everything that would hurt him to think about, but when he realized the disgusting stench of the strange chamber was his only company, the truth of his reality came crashing back.

Hours passed, but Oren couldn't find any more sleep. It was impossible to tell how long the night lasted from that moment.

At one point during the night, his crying stopped. Oren had simply run out of tears to shed.

And that is when he began to think.

_Eragon,_ he thought to himself, his memories circling in his mind. _Eragon… has been through worse than this before. And with less experience, and less hope of survival, than I now have._

_I must stop shedding tears. This is not a tragedy. This is a _puzzle_. A Rider could find a way out of this problem. I am sure of it._

_So, then… What would a Rider do, in a situation like this?_

_What would Eragon do?_

Oren heard a door open, shattering his thoughts.

A crack of light appeared in the dark plain which surrounded him, forming a doorway to the outside, where he saw the colors of sunrise just beginning to appear. It was early dawn; the whole of the night had passed.

Wraith stepped through the door.

"Still awake?" He said in mock pity, although it sounded awfully convincing. "Here, eat something."

Wraith tossed an apple and a thick slice of bread into Oren's lap, but Oren ignored them… for a time, at least. Soon, his body began to simmer with that painful electricity, and he realized that he still had to obey the man's order. He began to chew on the bread.

"Oren, I'll have you know something," Wraith said as he sat down next to his captive. "I'm not such a bad man."

"Are you, now?" Oren spat, his mouth still full of food. "Let me hear your reasoning. What do you need my dragon for?"

"Just the power," Wraith answered. "And the freedom. Freedom and power. See, kid, when you get to be my age, you start to see that most things in life are meaningless, except those things which you have the power to do on your own… And really, I want to do what I want to do, when I want to do it. That's every man's dream, isn't it? And if I have a dragon like you do, I can do that, and nobody will stand in my way, see?"

Oren said nothing.

"See, when you really get down to it, we are the same, you and I," the man told him.

"I find that hard to agree with," Oren returned, carefully inspecting his apple. "I have a sense of honor. You do not."

"Well, let's put it this way." the man said, sitting down and biting into his own loaf of bread. "I see here, something which you have given to your father."

He produced a book from his cloak. The journal. The one Oren had spent the last several years of his life writing. The next snide remark Oren was planning to deliver had caught in his throat.

"Haven't read through it beyond a cursory glance," Wraith said, flipping through the pages despite the lack of light in the room, "but in what I have read, I have seen myself. See… I, too, have a journal such as this one, filled with many of the same things: boredom with work, disappointment with the world around me, and a desire for just one thing… to be bonded to a dragon."

He closed the book quickly, and the resounding noise echoed in the dark chamber.

"But I have been alive for a bit longer than you have, Oren. Whereas you have written a journal, I have found the time to write five."

"_Five?_" Oren returned. "That's impressive, I must admit."

"So you see," the man said after swallowing his bite, "You and I aren't that different, are we? We both lusted for power, we both found an opportunity to fulfill that lust, we both took the opportunity… and we both were successful."

"Says the man who counts his dragon eggs before they hatch," Oren replied, taunting him. "You are not successful. Not yet. And, seeing as though you do not treat Scythe and I as a true threat, there is a very real possibility you will _not_ be."

A thought clicked into place. Oren glowered at the man.

"Also! How can you possibly call yourself a good man when you have _murdered _two families?" he suddenly shot, spewing food from his mouth. "That is _not_ something I have done in my quest for power! Can you justify _that?_"

"Oh…" the man said, scratching his head. "I… I actually have forgotten about that part. You may have a point there. Alright, alright, I concede. I _am_ a bad man. Still… When this is all said and done, I want to be your friend. I just want to be your dragon's friend, too. That's all I want. Really."

"If you wanted to be Scythe's friend, you are certainly doing it the hard way," Oren told him. "You could have simply asked. Scythe is friendly enough. I share many several friends with him already."

"Ah, but will he still be friendly to me after I ask him to kill tens of thousands of people for my cause?" the man said, holding up his hand and displaying his ring, which was barely able to be seen in the darkness of the room. "That's what the ring and the bracelet are for. Of course, I'm only joking about killing tens of thousands of people, but you understand the point."

Oren took the last bite of his apple, then slammed the remains on the ground in disgust.

"Oh, don't throw that away," Wraith demanded in mock sincerity. "Eat the core, too. It's good for you."

Oren scowled as he picked up the apple core from the ground, which had split into two pieces when he threw it. He crunched down on one, and his stomach threatened upheaval when he tasted the salty mud from the floor which now covered it. Wraith chuckled.

"This is more fun than I expected," Wraith said. "I suppose it can only get better from here. Well, after you're done with that, try to get some rest, will you? We will be very busy tomorrow."

"And just what are you planning for tomorrow?" Oren mumbled as he choked down a few seeds.

"We have your house to raid," he said evilly. "And your forge, too! You're the richest little boy in town, you know that? I can't imagine just how much your belongings will sell for! Unlike the other two families, you have furniture, like a rich man should. Clearing out your house will take a bit longer, but if we cooperate and work carefully, we can do it."

"My father won't let that happen," Oren grunted. "Don't even try."

"Then he will die as well," Wraith said. "That's the way it must be. We need all that money! With that kind of power, I can do anything."

Forcing down the last of the apple core, Oren closed his eyes.

"Where do you plan to stop?!" Oren asked, trying to situate himself into a comfortable position so he could try to fall asleep as commanded.

"Nowhere," he answered. "After all, if my desires are boundless, and I have the means to fulfill them, is it wrong to not want to stop anywhere?"

"Those are the kinds of desires that drive a man to accomplish great things," Oren recited with pointed wisdom. "But if you let your desires control you, make you into a coldhearted monster or a babbling fool, you destroy your future instead of building it…"

"False," Wraith said, standing up. "I might destroy somebody else's future while living my own, but sometimes, that can't be helped. Now stop talking and get some sleep."

Not able to release another word from his throat, Oren relaxed himself and emptied his mind just as he had always done when trying to overcome his sleepless nights. As the sunlight arose and slipped through the cracks of the shoddy building he was trapped in, he found that sleep finally came.

He dreamt only of flying free with Scythe, of being the noble Rider and friend he was destined to be.

_Should you ever fall, I shall be there for you,_ Scythe said as they flew. _That is my promise to you as your dragon._

"I have fallen," Oren cried. "I have failed… I have done the unthinkable. I've gotten myself captured. I lay trapped here, without you, and without any hope of freedom…"

_Then I will be there,_ Scythe said.


	12. A Blade

**-12-**

**A Blade**

_With a dragon at your side, what do you have to fear?_

…

_Then I will be there._

The words faintly echoed through Scythe's weary mind as it shifted between restless sleep and weary waking. He knew, as he laid himself to rest so far away from the one he loved the most, that the words had been spoken by his innermost heart, and that he heard himself say the words only by a trick of the mind, within a dream of some sort…

_How I wish they were true,_ Scythe said to nobody, his eyes flitting between open and closed as he lay upon a rock which overlooked the forest spanning back to the mountains. _What have you done, my Rider? Why have you sent me away? I was there for you, my heart mortified after waking and finding you gone… Finding you captured… Finding that I had failed to protect you when you needed me most… I yearned to rush to your side, to right this wrong I had committed, to cut down those who would endanger you with my blades… But instead, you've given me the one command I thought I would never hear your heart utter, my dear Rider… You've sent me away!_

Scythe lifted his head to stare into the infant sunrise, and uttered a long, deep moaning of lament which became a beautiful and saddening song to all the creatures who heard it.

_My Oren, the one whose heart would fall to pieces after being separated from me for just two days… now, when I have finally come to understand your needs and desires, you ask for six? You ask me to trust your judgment, but… what, in this great world, could I not help you with? Is the man so powerful that he could defeat me with the snap of his finger? How could a feeble human being, even a sorcerer, overpower me? Does he have a concept of what I am, of how powerful I've become? I could resist his spells. I could beat him down and bring my wrath upon him! That's what I was born for, is it not? What is the matter, my Oren? Do you wish to protect me by sending me away? Do you not trust in my strength? Or could it be that you wish to prove your own strength by defeating him by yourself?! Is not my strength yours?!_

Upon weary and sleep-deprived muscles, Scythe lifted himself to his feet and scowled, gazing to the place where he had last caught the thoughts of his Rider.

_Oren, I understand now why you become so distressed when I am gone, for your distress has now become mine! I cannot stay here while the enemy humiliates you and makes you his slave. I will find some way to help you, Oren, even though I cannot be there for you. I will not sleep until you are once again beneath my wing!_

With a pained groan, Scythe launched himself from the rock and set a course for the village where his Rider had lived.

* * *

When Scythe arrived at Rassan-Kaya, he visited Oren's house, figuring Glaedr and Ulan were the first two people he would ask for help… but when he sent his telepathic call into the house, there was no reply.

Searching around, he checked the forge and also the surrounding fields and forests. There was no sign of them. Confused, he took to the air again, following main road of the town and watching for any signs of human life within or between the houses and buildings… he was astounded to see that there were none.

But as he flew closer to the center of the little town, the wind shifted and blew a new scent to his attention. It was just the scent he was searching for – the scent of humans, many of them, all gathered together as one crowd. Following it, an incessant murmuring came to his ears. The murmur soon became an uproar, and the uproar a deafening clamor of a hundred people all yelling out to each other, all trying to have their voices heard at the same time.

With a beat of his wings, Scythe caught an updraft and rode it high above the rooftops, hoping to see the whole village at once. Soon, he spotted them.

At the southern edge of town, nearly all the village's inhabitants were gathered around a large rock which stuck high out of the ground at a strange angle, a formation which had always served as a monument of sorts. Now, though, a man which Scythe did not recognize stood atop that rock. At his sides were two men he clearly did recognize.

The crowd's clamor grew louder as the dragon approached, many gasping and pointing fingers at the black figure diving towards them from the sky. Many screams arose as the beast landed nearly on top of them. After giving a small nod of apology to the people, Scythe turned his attention to the men who stood upon the rock: Glaedr, Ulan, and a man that seemed very vaguely familiar… almost as though it was a figure from a past dream.

"_You_!" Glaedr cried in joy, climbing down off the rock and rushing up toward him. "What a sight you are at such an hour! You escaped? Are you well?"

_I am fine, Glaedr,_ Scythe said, looking around at everybody. _Am I to assume you're all rallied here because of Oren?_

"Yes, yes, we are," Glaedr said, his face full of relief and gladness to see the dragon. "We even have more help coming from the cities as fast as they can ride. This man here told us everything that happened."

_And who is this man?_ Scythe asked, turning his gaze toward the mysterious figure on the rock pedestal.

The man was dressed in black clothing. His head and his beard were a very odd color, like black, but with a very slight, subtle hint of green. He held a battleaxe in his left hand, presumably for leading anyone who would follow him – the men, women, and children who crowded around him at his feet, all eager to give up anything to rescue their resident Dragon Rider from whatever fate threatened him. Still, Scythe knew he had seen the man before somewhere, but he just couldn't place him…

"Your majesty," the man addressed Scythe as he bowed his head. "With the words Eragon once taught me, should I ever find myself in the presence of another dragon, _Skulblaka, eka celöbra ono un malabra ono un onr Shur'tugal né haina. Atra nosu waíse fricai_… I give you honor and I seek no harm for you or your Rider. Let us be allies."

_Very well,_ Scythe said with an acknowledging nod. _Explain yourself._

"I once had the pleasure of meeting your Rider, Black One," the man explained. "It was in another village, not quite far away, but not quite nearby. He knew me only as 'Ward', but my real name is Jaicob Nightwatcher. My brother's name is Erick, who calls himself 'Wraith' by the same token. We spent our nights keeping watch over our little village and defending its residents from intruders.

"The day your Rider left our village, I gave to him and his father here a solemn promise that I wouldn't bring misfortune upon your house because I shared his secret. See, but it is a promise I have broken! When I discovered the marking on his hand, and therefore his identity, my brother was standing behind me as I witnessed it, and he had seen everything I had seen! In the coming days, my brother became obsessed with you and your Rider, plotting and scheming to somehow overthrow you. I pretended I didn't know his plans, but I secretly kept my eyes turned upon his deed. I followed him when he came here, I watched from behind the shadows as he kidnapped your families and banished them from your village, and I watched as he finally captured Oren and dragged him away, throwing him into an old hunter's house in the great woods. I didn't dare try to stop him myself, but I knew I needed to do everything in my power to right the wrong I had caused, lest I end up one morning in the belly of a beast as I had been warned. So, here I am."

Scythe nodded again, giving the man a very warm, genuine smile. Jaicob seemed to heartily appreciate the gesture.

_Well done, man known as Ward,_ Scythe said. _Now, tell me, do you find it odd that so many people who are terrified at the sight of a dragon are so eager to help one? You've gathered nearly the entire community here, yet they're all still holding their breaths in my presence._

"Hah, aye, your majesty," Jaicob laughed. "But I suppose we can't help it."

"Only because you haven't gotten to know him," Davian shouted in defense. "Once you warm up to him, he's not scary at all. Really, he's just a big coward!"

The crowd nervously laughed at the remark, most of them expecting Scythe's head to snap down and swallow the man whole for the remark. Instead, Scythe just gave another wide smile.

But the lighthearted relief was not to last for very long. Scythe turned serious once more, and bent down his head to stare Jaicob right in the eye.

_Tell me, friend,_ Scythe demanded, _my own Oren has banished me from his presence. Do you know why?_

"Of course, your majesty," Jaicob replied. "Erick is controlling him using a cursed piece of jewelry he's been hoarding for the past twenty-one years. He likely commanded Oren to send you away so you wouldn't get in the way of his plans, and because of the curse, Oren couldn't disobey him."

_I suspected some trickery like this!_ Scythe exclaimed, whipping his head around to look back into the woods. _I should have known he would not have said something like this. I should have refused him!_

"There's another problem," Jaicob said. "Erick has given Oren another command. He is to kill himself if you arrive before it is time!"

_No!_ Scythe shouted, sending smoke from his nostrils drifting over the murmuring crowd. _The man must be stopped! Tell me, Warden of the night, is there any way to free my Rider from his clutch?_

"He will never let Oren go as long as he lives," Jaicob said with some regret, "So the only way will be… to slay him. Though I do not speak the words lightly, it is something that must be done."

_You would slay your own brother?_ Scythe said with some surprise. _Are you prepared for this?_

"I would slay my own self if it meant protecting you and your Rider, your majesty," Jaicob replied with a nod of reverence. "Erick has brought this upon himself, and as you have said, he must be stopped…"

_And how, Warden of the night, do we carry out this task?_

"I need the people of this village to help," Jaicob announced to everybody. "Stay here, and guard the perimeter of the village and every house, in the case Erick comes back here. Protect Oren's house, above all else, since he'll most likely be after that. Are we clear?"

Most of the crowd shouted their affirmative reply.

"Now," he said, "as for you, Scythe, you need to fly me to where the boy is being kept. I can show you the way."

"And me," Glaedr shouted, brandishing a sword. "I will come. And so will my brother."

_So be it,_ Scythe said. _But I must warn you of something. I have flown with Oren on my back only once. Do you think you will be able to stay on?_

"Ah, if I can stay on a horse, I can ride you," Ulan shouted.

* * *

"It is time to rise. The day waits for us."

After just four hours of rest, Oren was called out of his sleep. He groaned in pain as he moved his stiff muscles and tried to lift himself off the ground.

"Tired, are we?" Wraith mocked as he tossed a bundle of wet cloth into his face. "Here, put these on. We must be off. I can't help but feel something's gone amiss, so we'll spend the day moving farther east where they won't be able to find us. We return to your house tomorrow."

"Why these?" Oren asked, looking at the filthy, mold-covered clothes.

"Don't ask questions," Wraith snapped. "They are traveling clothes. And they have more pockets, so you can hold more things from your house without being seen. By the way, I do not approve of your insults. From now on, you will address me as 'master', am I clear?"

"Yes, Master," Oren sighed.

Oren reluctantly changed into the disgusting rags. As he slipped on the brown coat, he found he had trouble fitting it over the bracelet on his left arm. He started to fiddle with the thing, but found that it caused pain to jump up his arm at every slightest touch. It was like a creature's maw was biting down on his arm, with teeth rooted firmly into his flesh.

"Should have spent more time sleeping last night instead of crying," Wraith commented. "For a dragon rider, I must say I expected somebody with a stronger heart than yours… Now come on, _come on_! Get a move on. Put those things there in your pockets, and we'll be off."

Saying nothing, and only wearing a scowl on his face, Oren packed up the man's belongings into his soggy coat and followed him out the door and eastward into the forest.

"I can imagine you are eager for the sixth day to arrive," Wraith mocked. "You think that your dragon will zealously return for you, and you'll both foil my plans, don't you? I'll have you know that the sixth day will be the sealing of your fate. That's the day when I'll have you hand over command of your dragon to me. So that I'll be his Rider instead of you. Tell me, do you understand?"

"Yes, Master," Oren said. "I understand what you want to happen, but it won't happen."

"It will happen because I say it will happen," Wraith said. "It's that simple. You will command your dragon to serve me, and that will be that."

"His name is _Scythe,_" Oren shot back.

"Scythe, is it?" Wraith mocked. "Did you give him that name? That will need to be changed. I think I'll just call him 'pet'. That is a fitting name for an animal."

"A Rider's dragon is not his pet!" Oren said forcefully. "You can't call yourself Scythe's Rider if you treat him like a pet! I do not think you understand what you are getting yourself into."

"Silence!" Wraith commanded. "No more talking. You will speak when spoken to, understand?"

"Yes, Master," Oren said, hanging his head.

Wraith froze in mid-step.

"What was that?" he asked himself. "Oren, what was that?"

"I didn't hear anything," Oren replied.

For a full minute, Wraith stood with his ear into the wind, listening intently. A displeased expression formed on his face.

"I did," Wraith said, his voice developing desperation. "Somebody is coming. _Damn_ it! Those clever men must have found us already!"

Wraith quickly turned to retreat, grabbing Oren's arm and dragging him back in the direction they came.

"Damn, this isn't your dragon's doing, is it?" The man yelled as they ran. "I told you not to tell that thing about where we are!"

"I don't know what happened, Master," Oren replied. "I can only assume you have underestimated them."

"_RAAAAAAWW!_" roared Wraith, slamming Oren to the ground. "What? You say I _underestimated_ them, did you? I assure you, I am more than capable of turning the tables. Now! I was _hoping_ I wouldn't have to kill anybody today. I was hoping we could get away from any prying eyes. Damn it all… But it looks like that is a risk you shall be willing to take."

Here is a new order for you: if anyone tries to slay me, you will protect me by any means necessary. Leap into the range of the blade if you must. And if someone strikes you with a blade, take that blade for yourself and run it through their chest.

Upon their return to the shack, Wraith violently shoved Oren into a corner.

"Stay there, and don't move!" he barked. "You remain in the house and serve as a distraction, and I'll attack them from behind. Do not say a word about where I am. Do not say a word _at all_. Do not give them the slightest hint about where I am. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master," Oren replied.

"Furthermore," the dark-hearted Wraith ordered, "If anyone comes close to slaying me, protect me by any means necessary. Leap in front of the attack if you must. And… if you can acquire the blade of an attacker, take that blade and run it through their chest. Do you understand?"

"Yes… Master," Oren reluctantly said, his mind rapidly spinning through the implications.

"I'm going to go hide," said Wraith, stepping through the door. "Now, these people shouldn't pose a threat, if all goes well. Let us make fast work of them, alright?"

* * *

Oren sat in the corner for what seemed like hours. He sat, and waited, and waited…

And as he waited, he contemplated.

Wraith's latest orders for him were so terrible, he began to wonder if there wasn't any way to prevent this man from taking control of his dragon, making Scythe his 'pet', and using its power for his own means… while he himself would spend the rest of his days rotting in some dungeon.

_Being a Rider is more of a curse than a blessing,_ the words repeated in his mind. _For every day of your life you spend laughing, you will spend twelve days crying. All your years will be filled with pain. Every small joy which might come to you will be overshadowed and defeated by a grave difficulty. Your life will become something completely out of your control. Only fate will guide your way._

_So this is what I asked for,_ Oren realized. _This is the fate I brought upon myself… this is the fate that Scythe brought upon me for hatching to me…_

Oren could only sit and wait as the moments passed… He could only struggle to accept the fate of his situation, his own fate, the one he had chosen…

_Then it is the fate I will accept,_ he realized. _I am not a weakling. Not anymore. I am a Rider! I will escape from this man's command. In theory, all I need to do is survive. Eragon and Arya will return for me any month now. They could defeat the man. They would know how. So, then, all I must do… is survive._

As he realized this, the door opened, and somebody stepped into the dark room. It was not Wraith. Oren's world erupted in panic when he saw who had come for him.

It was his father.

"There's nobody in here…" Glaedr whispered, looking around the room. "They've- "

The man brandished a weapon of his own design: a small sword, one he had trained himself to use. His eyes came to rest upon his son, clothed in disgusting rags and stuffed into the corner.

"Oren!" his father shouted, rushing to him and giving him an embrace. "Oren, it's you! What have they done to you, son? Come on, I'm here to get you out!"

Oren said nothing and did nothing. He only continued to stare at his father with a mortified face, as if to say "you shouldn't have come." Ulan followed him into the house. He also fixed his gaze on the boy for a moment, then glanced around the room for any sign of danger.

"Oren, come on!" Glaedr insisted, reaching out for him. "Are you spellbound?"

"He obeys me," said a voice from the door.

Ulan and Glaedr's heads snapped around to see Wraith standing in the doorway. The man held no weapon and did not appear threatening in any manner, but he smugly stood at the door and watched the men as if they were all conforming to his plans.

"I suggest you don't do anything to hurt me," Wraith said. "Oren has his orders."

Before Wraith could say another word, he was attacked from the back by his brother and thrown to the ground in the house. Oren's rescuers all brandished their weapons and held them to the throat of the fallen man.

"Don't hesitate, now!" Jaicob shouted. "Just kill him!"

_*SMACK!*_

Ulan fell to the floor, out cold. Oren had hit him in the side of the head with a giant metal stake, giving him a severe concussion.

"Oren?!" Glaedr shouted, shocked.

"I'm sorry, father," he replied, heaving the stake back up to arm's level. Before his father could react, he threw the whole thing at Ward's face. Ward tried to dodge, but was hit with the spinning projectile and also fell to the floor. Then, Oren took the rusty dagger into his hand that he had gotten from Wraith, and started to take steps toward his father.

"Oren, no…" his father said, taking some steps back.

"As I said, he obeys me alone," Wraith said, getting up off the floor. "And soon, his dragon will obey me just the same. It was a good attempt at a rescue, I'll give you that. I never would have expected my own brother to try to stop me. But in the end, you have underestimated me. its-"

With a frightful war cry, Glaedr flung his blade through the air, straight at the evil man's chest.

"NO!" Oren yelled – not for Wraith, but for himself. For as soon as he realized what was happening, he dove in front of the blade, taking the hit for himself.

The long, thin blade carved a hole into the side of his arm. He cried in anguish.

His own father could not believe his eyes, and naturally, couldn't do anything to stop it when Oren yanked the sword out of his body and plunged it into his own father's shoulder.

Oren's eyes widened. Tears streamed from them. His father gasped for breath, bearing the pain.

"What? You missed?!" Wraith screamed. "I thought I told you to stab him in the heart!"

"No, you just said to stab him in the chest," Oren hissed in anger, "So I was able to choose which part of the chest."

Oren quickly withdrew the blade from Glaedr's body, slamming it to the ground in rage. He embraced his wounded father.

"Oren, I… I'm sorry." Glaedr whispered. "I tried."

"I know," Oren said. "I tried as well."

"Oren…" his father whispered in a faint, secretive voice. "I've got you. Get Scythe!"

"_What?_"

"Call Scythe! He's with us, too!"

At that, a horrible compulsion overcame Oren. It was the suicidal desire he had coming to him if he found out that Scythe returned had returned before the six days were done. But Glaedr held his muscular arms so tightly around his son, and struggle though he may, he couldn't escape them.

Oren opened his mind, and in an instant, he found his dragon watching and waiting very close by.

_Oren?! Is that you?!_ he heard Scythe call in surprise. _Have you been freed from your curse?!_

_Come to me, now!_ cried Oren. _Help me, while there's still time!_

_Oren, it feels like I've waited a thousand years to hear you utter those words,_ Scythe said.

Oren didn't have time to whisper "He's coming," to his father…

_Thump._

The sound of dragon's wings erupted from the surrounding air. Erick stopped cold, his eyes widening in fear.

_Thump._

Again, the sound of wings pulsed, much closer now. Erick's eyes snapped to Oren, and he realized at that moment what was going on.

"UNHAND HIM!" Erick screamed, drawing a sword and pointing it at Glaedr. "Unhand him. NOW! Or you will die, AS WELL!"

_THUMP…_

There was a mighty explosion as an entire wall of the hunter's shack crumbled to dust, revealing the angry black beast, fuming at the maw and eyes glowing brightly. In utter awe, Erick dropped his sword and stepped away. Even Oren stopped struggling as he laid his eyes upon Scythe, their minds once again melding together. In an instant, Scythe learned of all of Oren's experiences and tribulations with the man as their bond came together again.

_I'm here for you, Oren!_ Scythe proclaimed proudly. _No more shall this man treat us you like his slave! Now, he shall pay for what he has done to you!_

With a final, crazed yell, Erick leapt at Oren and tore him away from his father in the small moment of distraction.

Glaedr scrambled forward to catch his son once more, but Oren fell free and stumbled onto the ground. He immediately brandished the rusty dagger which Erick had bestowed upon him, setting the tip of the blade to his chest…

…But the metal did not penetrate his skin. He did not stab himself.

Scythe turned his attention to Erick. The man was _petrified._ Petrified at how fast his plans had come crashing down. He shot a glance at Oren, and at the bracelet he still wore, wondering why in the world he wasn't following his order to kill himself… He examined his own ring, to make sure it was still around his finger… All that was left for him to do was to return Scythe's gaze, backing across the floor as the dragon took step after step toward him. He gave weak gasps of breath as he cowered for his own life…

_You wonder why my Rider is not so quick to kill himself?_ Scythe teased, backing the man into the corner. _You want to know why? I am stopping him. It's not all that difficult, even. It feels as though I am holding a rat down by the tail. You see, Dark Wraith, I know something you do not: Oren and I are one soul in command of two physical forms. While your ring gives you authority over Oren alone, your pathetic magic slavery cannot control both of us at once. You would need another bracelet for me._

Scythe smiled evilly._ It would seem Oren was never in any real danger from the very beginning, as your plans would have been foiled as soon as we came together once again!_

Scythe let loose a deafening roar into the man's face, causing him to slump to the ground. He cowered like a small child, covering his face with his arms.

_Are you scared of me, little human?_ Scythe said mockingly. _You sought to defeat a Rider and his dragon, did you? Did you really think you could defeat me? Tell me, little human, DO I APPEAR EASY TO DEFEAT?_

He roared again, this time showering the man in a cloud of thick black smoke.

_You knew not what you were up against, did you? Not a sliver of a concept of what kind of power Oren and I share? Well, now you know! It is a shame that it is not a lesson I will be letting you live with._

Scythe nudged the terrified man with his nose, pushing him even farther into the corner.

"What are you doing?" Oren asked.

_I'm learning._ Scythe answered with a hint of evil glee. _I try to observe an animal's behavior when it is in danger of eminent death, to help me become a better predator. __I've never captured a human before, and I'd like to observe his behavior as he takes his final breaths of life. What will he do, realizing that there's no possible hope for him to escape his fate? Realizing not only that death is inescapable now, but that it's a shameful death? Man called Wraith, you've not died in the battlefield for those you love, or in defense of what is noble and honorable. Instead, you are a weed, a stalk of grass, cut down by the blade of a scythe for irking the farmer! Devoid of all honor and glory from your final moments, what will you do, tiny man? Will you faint from terror before the finishing blow? Will you beg me for mercy? Or will you become mad and try to attack me? Show me your behavior, little blade of grass, so that I may learn your nature!_

Scythe soon had his answer. As the man stared up at the angry dragon, tears started to stream down his bright red face.

"I –" he choked out, gasping heavily as he wept. "I – I – I just wanted - "

_You give me tears?_ Scythe roared telepathically. _What of all the tears Oren gave you? What have you done with them? ENOUGH of you, little human!_

Scythe reared his head, sending a pillar of red fire from his mouth. It engulfed the man whole, muffling any possible scream he could have made in his final moments. He then whipped his head downward, bit down on the man, and flung him across the room. The charred corpse snapped in half as it hit the far wall, where it fell to the ground in a cloud of ash and laid motionless as little flames continued to burn down the flesh and clothing.

_Oren,_ Scythe said, his voice becoming much more friendly now,_ It is over. We win!_

"You just… killed him?" Oren gasped, feeling weak.

_I needed to,_ Scythe said. _He was a predator. A predator may only show mercy to his prey, never to his fellow predators. If you insult the pride of a predator and let them go, they will spend the rest of their lives seeking revenge, and you will never be safe from them._

"Is that a lesson from the wild?" Oren asked.

_Yes,_ Scythe said, _But not one that I learned on my own. Rather, it's a lesson that my own mother engrained into me when I was very young. This man will never again endanger you, my Rider. You are safe from his evil schemes. My promise is kept._

Glaedr, Oren, and Scythe remained in the ruins of that house for an hour, nursing their own wounds and doing anything they could think of to help their friends recover from unconsciousness.

* * *

When Jaicob awoke, he was more than a bit shocked to see what had become of his brother, but at the same time, he was relieved that the man had been stopped. Glaedr gave the warden of the night his utmost thanks for helping to save his son, telling him that he was welcome among his family at any time.

Ulan eventually came to his senses as well. The first thing he did was stomp the corpse of the man flat with his feet, so it lost all form and became nothing but a pile of dirt with some bone shards scattered here and there.

Together, the four men and the dragon turned to head back home.

Along the way, Jaicob noted the bloody wounds that Glaedr and Oren had received in the battle and had tried to wrap up in their own clothing.

"Are they deep?" Jaicob asked. "Are they clean? Do they pierce through your back? It may be too late before we can see a healer or a herbalist; if they become infected, you may spend the rest of your life with some sort of illness, or in the worst case, you may lose your wounded arm entirely. Sad to say, I have seen it happen before, on occasion…"

Oren remembered how Eragon once healed the wounds of other men, by extending his marked hand over them and proclaiming "_Waíse heill!_" Oren tried it, but to no avail; he figured that he just didn't know how to work with magic at this point in time.

_Someday, Oren,_ Scythe said. _Someday soon._

But then, something strange happened. Scythe drooped his muzzle close to the wounds, and Oren felt as an instinctual surge of energy rippled through his mind. They removed the bandages and found the wounds to be inexplicably gone.

Oren and Glaedr were dumbstruck at the miracle. _My mother has taught me this,_ the black dragon said, though he was clearly as amazed as they were. _Sometimes, a dragon is simply granted a wish he desires. There is no cause; the magic within a dragon cannot be fully explained. She told me… if there is ever a time when I find myself in need, that I might try wishing hard enough, and the magic might answer my prayer…_

"It works for humans, as well, apparently," Glaedr noted. "My son knows full well just where wishing can get him."

Oren smiled.

* * *

When they finally returned to Rassan-Kaya, they were greeted with a hero's welcome… but, regarding that party, there isn't much to say about it. There was a celebration for the dragon Rider's first ever victory against an enemy… or something like one, if you count a simple gathering and cheering as a celebration, since that's all the people could think of at the time. Someone thought to bring out some barrels of ale and let everyone toast to the victory. Oren invited Scythe to try some of it, but he spit it back out in disgust.

After the makeshift party, Jaicob expressed a desire to return home. He was thanked once again by all.

However, before he did, he pulled Oren over into a corner in secret, and shoved a mysterious item into his hands. Oren looked at it, and was astounded to see what it was: the magical ring, the same one Wraith had used to assume the role of his master. Oren had kept the bracelet, putting it in his pocket after taking it off and forgetting about it… but now, he had both pieces of the spell, something which he could potentially use to control somebody's free will.

"Keep it," the warden told him. "It's too useful to just be thrown away, aye? It might come in handy someday for you."

"Are you sure?" Oren asked, examining the shining ring he held in his fingers. "It seems something only a villain would use…

"Whether or not you use it is up to you," Jaicob said. "It's not like you don't have more powerful weapons, anyway, aye, rider 'o the Black Majesty?"

The man gave him a handshake and a pat on the back, and then he was gone.

Though it was not yet even noon, both Oren and his dragon knew what they wanted most: sleep. Oren had gone nearly full night without it, and Scythe had gone for many more. Since both of them were safe and sound, and Scythe had kept his promise to himself to not rest until he had Oren back, it was finally time for both of them to have their well-deserved rest…

But when Oren approached his dragon on that spring afternoon, wanting to take rest under his wing once more, the dragon refused him.

_Go,_ Scythe said solemnly. _Be with your father this time. You will always have me. You will not always have him._

Oren knew he was right. He thanked Scythe once again for everything he had done, and then retired to his own house for the day where his father waited for him. They both slept very soundly throughout the day and the night.

* * *

"Oren, wake up!" Glaedr shouted from Oren's doorway. "You've been asleep for long enough, don't you think? Come now, I've been waiting for you."

"Fine, I'm coming," was his groggy reply.

It was early the next morning. Oren awoke, his head still swimming in his dreams of dragons and battles and winning great wars.

After dressing in some comfortable clothes, he came out to meet his father in the sitting room. Glaedr stood before the fireplace with in very courteous, official manner, as though he was about to conduct some sort of ceremony and give a memorized speech.

"Good morning, Father," Oren said, confused.

"Good morning, son," he replied. "Now, Oren, your nineteenth birthday is only four weeks from now, do you remember?"

"I remember," Oren said.

"Now, I had something I wanted to give you, but because of what has transpired recently, I've decided that it'd be best to give it to you as soon as possible. So, Oren, I want you to accept this…"

He lifted a long, brown box from the hearth and held it in his hands before Oren.

"This is my gift to you as my son, and as the Rider you have become. I hope it will be of use to you."

Oren gave an appreciative nod, then wasted no time in removing the top of the wooden box and gazing inside. What he saw before him took his breath away.

Inside was a long, beautifully-crafted sword. The blade was, surprisingly, a dark, dusty black. The hilt was formed of a silvery metal, with intricate designs strewn throughout, and a large black gemstone adorning the center. Two engravings of scythe blades crossed beneath it.

"Father…" Oren said, almost utterly speechless. "This is…"

"Before you worship my craftsmanship, you should know that I had some help," he said. "Andov helped with the design. He also gave me that gemstone. He says it actually came from Alagaësia, and it has some meaning to Riders…"

"A _black_ blade?!" Oren gasped in amazement as he laid his hands upon it. "How did you… How is that possible, I mean, to turn the steel black like this? You've never taught me anything about this…"

"It's something that hasn't quite been done before," his father admitted. "I formed an alloy with Jangustone metal. The result is that the metal turns black, and very, very durable, almost as diamonds. But… there is a drawback."

Oren took hold of the beautiful hilt and lifted the sword from the case. But, to his surprise, it was weightier than any other sword he had held before, even those which were greater in size. Struggling to lift it, he wondered if he would need both hands to use it well. But as he held the thing, he found that its weight seemed to be reduced the longer he held it, as if his muscles wanted to become accustomed to its form.

"It is heavy. Any fellow blacksmith would hang me by the neck if they found out I made this," Glaedr said with a nervous laugh. "Using Jangustone metal in a weapon is unheard of because of its ridiculous weight. But I figured that you, well… you have Scythe's strength in addition to yours, so it wouldn't be a problem for you. If you can learn to handle the weight, this sword should serve you for all your life. The blade will always stay sharp. It will never break, and it will never be scratched by other swords."

"Father…" Oren gasped again, holding the impressive weapon in his hands. "I don't think you've built something greater than this in all your life. I… don't know what to say."

"I give this to you because I know the day is coming soon when I will need to say goodbye to you," Glaedr said. "I have nothing more to teach you, I have no more reason to raise you, or to protect you, now that you have Scythe. And soon, you'll also have Eragon. My role as your father is over. I wanted to give you something lasting that would help you for all your days long after you're gone, in my stead."

"Father, I'll always remember you," Oren said, taking his attention off the sword for a moment. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be a Rider today. I'll treasure this blade as long as I live."

Then, Oren check on his link with Scythe, and found him still lazily snoozing somewhere just outside of the village. He tugged on him.

_Scythe, wake up!_ he beaconed.

_I'm awake,_ Scythe replied as he batted down his morning weariness. _What, you've woken up before me, and you've awakened __me__? That's never happened before! I'm impressed. _

_Scythe, come here!_ Oren called as he took the sword and led his father outside into their front yard space. _You need to see this! Father's given me his gift!_

Scythe's form appeared in the sky. He gently came down to land, then took a look at the sword in Oren's hands as he stepped up to him.

_Impressive sword,_ Scythe said in the open so that Glaedr could also hear. With a smirk, he added, _But what does this imply? Am I myself not a good enough blade for my Rider?_

Oren laughed at the remark, but it led him to hold up the sword and look at it very thoughtfully. After a moment, he gave his reply.

"I think I'm going to name this sword," Oren announced. "It will be named 'Xandar', for it is the lesser of my two blades."

Both Scythe and Glaedr, although for very different reasons, were deeply pleased.

* * *

Near the end of summer, long after Oren's nineteenth birthday, Scythe took Oren flying once more. Oren found the experience much easier and less frightening than he remembered. Practicing together, Scythe discovered new techniques and maneuvers he could perform, Oren learning how to keep holding on through it all. He also learned how to keep his stomach calm, teaching it to survive in the air, a place he knew he would be spending much of his time from this point forth.

_They're coming for us now,_ Scythe said suddenly as he leveled out into a smooth glide. _It has been a year. My mother and father will return any day now. Do you think we are ready for them? Do you think you can stand being taken away from your home and thrust into a world you had never dreamed of?_

_If you ask me, I'm already in that world,_ Oren replied. _Let them come. We can take anything._

_Yes,_ Scythe said with a smile, _let them come._

...there was a gentle breeze.

A gust of wind sent a ripple across the surface of the water, distorting the vision of the dragon and Rider, but Eragon and Saphira kept their eyes fixed on the puddle through which they scryed.

_Can't we leave them alone for just one more year?_ Saphira whined. _They look so happy._

_Saphira, he is a Rider!_ Blade rebuked from somewhere far off. _It's already a travesty we haven't been training him since the day our son was hatched. Not only have we lost time, we now need to debunk all the misconceptions they've been building up for all this time. We can't afford to wait any longer!_

"He's right," Eragon sighed. "It's time. The rest of your children didn't want to hatch for anyone else in Aephea. Now… we need to give our attentions to the one that did."

_As I look at them,_ Saphira said, _I just get the feeling that they're not yet prepared for us._

"Is a Rider ever _really_ prepared to be trained, Saphira?" Eragon wondered.

_I suppose not,_ she replied. _But still…_

Saphira gave a huff of smoke, then splashed the puddle with her claw and broke the vision which was reflected upon the surface.

Suddenly, she gave an evil smile to her rider.

_Oh, Blade,_ She called out whimsically, _Don't you just adore flying through the snowstorms up north?_

_As much as I adore eating rocks, yes,_ Blade replied.

_Then it's settled! We'll wait until next spring before we return!_

Before Blade could reply, Saphira closed her mind off to him. She proudly cocked her head over Eragon as she laid herself back down, wrapping her tail around her legs. Eragon scowled in astonishment

"How motherly of you," Eragon sighed, forcing a laugh. "Fine, very well, you win. But when we get there, you be sure to teach your son your talent at annoying the innards out of his Rider, alright?"

_Oh, I will,_ she replied with a big grin. _Now go bury the eggs again, since we won't be leaving for a while._

Once Eragon had gone away, Saphira set her head down on the ground and rested.

_I still love you, little one,_ she said to herself, not caring if anybody else heard her. _And you, Blade… and you, my son…_

Soon, Eragon, Saphira, Arya, and Blade would return for Oren, ready to teach him all the secrets of how to "properly" be a Dragon Rider…

But little did Eragon know that perhaps _he_ was the one who would not be prepared for such a challenge…

…and that he would learn something deep and frightening about the fate of the Riders, a lesson which, in all his years, he had never expected to encounter…

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_

_Well, that's it! That's all I have written of this story. _

_Originally, the story was meant to be twelve more chapters long. However, I left the Inheritance fandom before I found the desire to finish it, and the revelations in the third and fourth books turned this story into an alternate universe fic, anyway. So, it is unlikely that the second half of this story will be written._

_Unlikely… but not impossible._

_Should I write the second half of this story? I'm still trying to decide. It would take a lot of work trying to get back into Inheritance after all this time, and even then, more work in trying to preserve the consistency in this alternate universe setting I have created based on the assumptions made when the Inheritance Cycle was only two books long._

_But, as I have gone back over this story again, I found that I am surprisingly pleased with it. Memories of my plans for the next twelve chapters have flooded back to me, tempting me to try bringing them to life. Even though Silver Resistance is my top priority and the story in highest demand, this little fable has proven to hold a place in my heart._

_So, in closing: if you want the story to continue, please speak up and let me know. I'm not going to do a review quota or anything – I despise it when authors do that – but knowing that there are people who wish to see this story continue will surely influence my final decision._

_Should I decide that this story will never be finished, I will update this story once more with a lengthy summary of the plans I had laid out, so that there will at least be closure. _

_Thank you for reading! See you next time._


End file.
